The Human Heart
by Melaradark
Summary: The Kilrathi Empire is in a bitter war with the Human Confederation...and slowly but surely, they are winning. The Human Heart follows two pilots from their first meeting to the deepest and most desperate battles of the war, and humanity's last stand against annihilation. Solidly left-of-canon.
1. The Beginning

A/N:

Welcome to The Human Heart!

This might be a huge mistake but…yeah. Gonna go for it anyway. And yes, I do realize this means I'm writing three stories now at once. As always, DE5 will take precedence, with Citadel and this fic being posted on as I can until DE5 is done.

Ok, so I loved the Wing Commander series when it first came out. My very first tentative forays into fanfiction years and years ago revolved around Wing Commander, among others. Some of the plot points of the stories I wrote were good but to be honest, most of the writing was crap. Hey, I was about seventeen, so what can I say?

So, I decided to do a revisiting, and this fiction is the result. A few things before I get started:

This story is very, very, VERY loosely based on the actual Wing Commander series. Honestly, beyond a few names and basic static elements, this story has absolutely nothing to do with Wing Commander canon. So please, don't write me explaining how something isn't canon or isn't even a thing in the WC universe…I know.

The static elements that will be familiar are: the human forces are still called the Confederation. The group of traitors and spies are still called the Mandarin, or the Mandarin Order. The enemy are still an empire of feline aliens called the Kilrathi.

However, I'm making up nuances of tech, culture, history, slang, etc. as I go. The protagonists and ships of the WC series (Blair, TCS Tiger's Claw, etc) will NOT be in this story. All characters and ships will be original and of my creating.

If this massive departure from canon is going to upset you, I suggest you give this story a pass.

Lastly, this story will have a romance in it between two women. If that is going to upset you as well, I suggest you give this story a pass as well. Also, if you are reading looking for shmexy lesbian love scenes or smut…you will be disappointed. I have a really bad habit of fading to black.

I also love cliffhangers, so be warned.

Now, to set the stage…

This takes place a couple of centuries from now. Humans have space travel, and are in the middle of an all-out war between our systems and colonies, and a very strong empire of aliens ruled by the Kilrathi. Slowly, but surely…the Kilrathi are winning, and driving humanity back into the Sol system. Their goal seems to be not just to take over our territories, but to eliminate the human species from existence altogether.

The Mandarin, an underground group of nameless spies, terrorists and traitors to humanity, undermine the efforts of the Confederation and its fleets, sabotaging, selling information, and aiding the Kilrathi against humanity in the hopes of power and reward.

A key portion of the Confederation's defense are its deep space stations and launch platforms- enormous floating colonies in their own right- and huge battle fleets compromised of enormous transports, destroyers, cruisers, frigates, and millions of combat fighters. While battles have been fought dirt-side, the bulk of the combat front is space itself.

This war will be won- or lost- in the cockpits of millions of fighters across known space. Our fate is in the hands of the pilots of those ships.

This is the story of some of those pilots.

And like most stories surrounding combat pilots and soldiers…it starts in a bar.

* * *

It was Parry's first leave in six weeks, and she knew it was going to be her last for a very long time. Normally, she was not a big drinker, and being something of an introvert, a raucous night at a bar was not necessarily on her list of favorite things.

However, one thing she'd learned since signing up for boot-there were certain traditions, certain chains you just didn't break. Pilots in general, and combat pilots in particular, were a superstitious lot. If they weren't before they arrived at Yelchin, they were by the time they departed.

One tradition was graduation. If you graduated MR, or 'mission-ready'- especially from Yelchin- you spent the night before assignment at the bar and drank. No excuses, no exceptions. If you didn't, it was solemnly believed you would not survive your first mission, no matter where you were deployed.

Parry was too smart to believe in superstitions, and considered this one as ridiculous as any other. At the same time, however…who wanted to tempt fate?

_That, and I'm pretty sure Jonas and the others would have hog-tied me and carried me here if I'd refused,_ she thought, as a beer was slapped down in front of her with so much force half of it slopped out onto the tabletop.

Picking it up, she gave Jonas a dry look, then sniffed it suspiciously. He barked a laugh, then tsked.

"What, princess…you think I'm going to drug your skinny ass?"

Jonas was a good guy. Mostly harmless, with a bit of a bantam ego that sent him strutting about as if he were a clear foot taller and a hell of a lot better on the stick than he was.

He wasn't a bad pilot- bad pilots didn't make MR at Yelchin- but he was comfortably middle of his class, middle of his flight scores.

_You wouldn't think it by the way he puffs up_, Parry thought affectionately. _You'd think he shits bricks as gold as Killdare with the way he preens._

"What makes you think you'd have to, Jonas?" Parry asked, teasing him. The other woman at the table, already well on the way past drunk, laughed.

"How many've you had?" she asked, squinting at Parry as she swayed slightly back and forth in her seat.

"Far less than you, by looks," Parry replied.

"So not nearly enough," she giggled.

Jaime had always been a giggler. It was weird. Woman was cold enough and precise enough on the stick to have earned the name Ice, but she was a fucking giggler.

"Not nearly enough for what?" Jonas asked, confused. That was another thing…Jonas wasn't always quick on the uptake.

"For _you_," Jaime said, in a tone that suggested how obvious she thought it was. "Parry'd have to be a hell of a lot more sussed before she'd swap a dustpan for a broomstick."

"A dustpan for a broomstick?" Rafael asked, getting back to the table. He was cradling no fewer than eight more beers- bottled ones- and was sweating. The bar was insanely crowded and hotter than blazes. There were a lot of pilots who'd graduated MR…a lot who didn't want to tempt superstitious fate.

Rafael- or Rafe, as he was known by his friends- was a big brute of a man, with a closely shaved slick of platinum blonde hair and a perpetually squinting, slightly irritated expression on his face. He sat down, taking up half the table on his own, setting the beers down as he squinted at Jaime. "Is that some sort of drunk euphemism for dicks and splits?"

"Jesus, Rafe, can you get any more crude?" Jaime asked with a snort. He shrugged, cracking open his first beer.

"Yeah, probably," he said, then slapped Jonas' hand hard as he reached for one of the bottles. "Get your own, fucker!"

"You got eight of them!"

"Yeah, and I'm going to drink every damn one! Get your fucking own!"

Jaime sipped her own drink, then gestured with it as if she were at a lectern explaining nuclear physics to the unwashed masses. "We were discussing just how in the soup our dear Parry would have to be, before she would select Jonas over any number of loverly ladies in this fine estab'ishment."

"_Jonas?_ Fuck, she'd have to be _dead_," Rafe said, prompting an injured 'hey!' from Jonas. He ignored his friend, and took a gulp of the beer he'd just opened. "Any _other_ guy in here…? Yeah, I'm thinking she'd _still_ have to be dead."

"I _love_ this conversation," Parry said sarcastically.

"Hey, I'm on your side," Rafe grinned, then offered his fist. "Sister power and all that, right mate?"

She ignored the fist. "Drink your beers. You can't pass out soon enough."

"Too right," he said, still grinning, and downed the rest of the first one, moving on instantly to crack open a second.

"Hey, guys, seriously," Jonas said, looking at them. "I'm being serious a moment. Seriously."

"You are seriously _drunk_," Jaime said, slurring the beginning of the word almost beyond recognition.

"No, man, _seriously_," Jonas said insistently. "Tomorrow we get our assignments. We could ship out immediately. Never fucking see each other again."

"You gonna cry?" Rafe asked.

"Fuck you man, I mean it," Jonas said. "This is some deep shit ok? A week from now, I may be on a DS station on the front in Gamma Sector. Jaime may be…may be scaring the fuck out of some Cat in a johnny out off Burbank Station and Parry…she'll be commanding a Wing for First Fleet, you just wait and see."

Parry about spit the mouthful of beer she'd taken. "You have an awfully high estimate of my skills, Jonas."

"Please, you scored a one ninety. You could fly circles around us and you know it. Point is…this is it. After tonight…everything changes."

"He's right," Jaime said, and lifted her mug. "To us! May our wings be…be flappy and our guns…_boom_…"

Parry rolled her eyes. "_May our wings be swift and our shots never miss_. To the Confederation!"

"To the Confederation!"

There was a sloppy clink as they tapped glasses and bottles together. As Jaime went to drink, she slipped off the edge of her chair and vanished beneath the table. Parry blinked and half stood up, setting her own mug down.

"Jaime?"

"…_I think I'm gonna chuck…"_ came the weak reply.

"I got 'er," Jonas said, getting to his feet and helping his friend to hers before steering her on a wobbly course through the crowds and toward the restrooms.

Parry watched them go, picking up her glass again as Rafe cracked open his fourth bottle of beer. As her eyes left her friends and panned briefly over crowd, she suddenly stopped, lowering her glass again. Rafe looked at her from beneath one grizzled brow. Seeing her eyes, he turned his head and tried to pinpoint where she was looking.

Near the bar another MR was standing, her posture decidedly stiff and square, as if she expected a surprise inspection at any point. A glass sat in front of her on the bar top, and she was looking down into it-touching neither it nor the bar itself-with a curiously fixed intensity.

"Really? Out of all the MRs here ready to party, you're looking at _her?_" Rafe asked.

"What?" Parry blinked, looking at him.

"C'mon, I saw you looking. You had the same expression my dog used to get when he thought there was bacon in the house."

She glared at him. "I wasn't looking like _that_."

"You were. Dunno why. I mean, she's ok I guess. Cute enough, but nothing special. Nothing like _Rodriguez."_

"_No one_ measures up to Rodriguez in your book, Rafe."

"Damn straight, and never will. She's…weird, too, I think." He was looking back at the girl at the bar, who hadn't so much as moved. "Maybe floating. What the fuck is she doing?"

"I don't know. Maybe there's a bug in her glass."

"Hey, here's an idea. Why don't you go and ask her?"

She snorted, shaking her head. "Uh, _no_."

"Why not? Jesus Christ, Parry, when we tagged you 'Angel' we meant 'of Death', not 'Christmas tree'."

"What?" She stared at him in confusion.

"Christmas tree angel. You know, because you've got a huge stick shoved so far up your ass it's a wonder your tonsils aren't getting splinters."

"Shut up, Rafe."

"No. Look, this may be your last night on base. Fuck, it may be your last night on the fucking _planet_. So quit trying to fade into the background, get drunk out of your mind, and go get yourself fucking _laid_."

He took one of his remaining few beers, cracked it, and set it firmly in front of her.

"Jaime's right. You're a crude asshole."

"You fucking love me. Now drink. Then get up off your ass and go talk to her."

She gave him a challenging look and he lifted his brows, then shrugged. "All right. You have until I finish these last three beers. If you haven't gotten off your ass and gone and talked to her by then, I'm going to get up, I'm going to go over to her, and I'm going to tell her you've been making rude remarks about her all night and bragging to all your mates about what she's like in bed."

Parry blanched, horrified. "I don't even know her!"

"Which is why you shouldn't be saying such shitty things about her. Shame on you."

"Rafe!"

He gave her another pointed lift of his brows, setting aside an empty bottle and opening a new one. "Two left, princess. You're running out of time."

She picked up the bottle of beer he'd pushed her way, lifting it and downing half. Then she slapped it back down and shoved the remainder of it toward him as she got to her feet. "You're such a _fucking_ scrag."

"You can thank me tomorrow after you've gotten properly shagged," he said, and lifted his own bottle in tribute as she pushed past him. "Salud."

Parry edged her way through the crowd, mentally cursing Rafe and all his ancestry as she did so. Halfway to the bar, she switched from her furious internal dialogue to a nervous one.

She'd never been good at talking to women…at least, not like this. She didn't do bars, and she certainly didn't do cheesy, half-drunk pick-up lines.

_You don't have to pick her up. You don't even have to talk to her, just_ look _like you are from where Rafe is sitting._

Though several minutes had passed since she'd first caught sight of the MR at the bar, the other woman hadn't moved. She still stood, contemplating the glass in front of her as if it were a bomb that would be triggered by motion. Parry managed to squeeze into a spot at the bar only a few feet away, edging closer when someone else stepped off with their order.

The bartender glanced her way and lifted a brow. There was suddenly only one thing Parry wanted more than anything else in the universe.

"Glass of water please?" She had to shout to be heard over the noise. He nodded and as he filled a glass with ice, Parry licked her dry lips and half glanced at the woman standing only a foot or two away.

She was in her fatigues but like most of the MRs in the sweltering bar, she'd abandoned her jacket somewhere. Her black t-shirt was slightly damp in a patch between her shoulders, and a few errant strands of her hair were stuck with sweat to her temples and the side of her neck.

The hair itself was dark, slightly longer than Parry's but still short of her collar- reg for any pilot, male or female. She was shorter than Parry but that was expected; Parry was tall for a woman. While it was true the MR wasn't unnaturally gorgeous or a drop dead stunner, seeing her even closer Parry knew Rafe was wrong.

_She blows the socks off every other woman in here_, she thought.

The bartender set the glass of ice in front of her and started to fill it with water. As he did, he glanced at her, then at the motionless woman nearby.

"Don't know what she's doing," he said conversationally. "She's been standing like that for twenty goddamn minutes."

"I'm trying to decide how superstitious I am," the woman said suddenly, without looking around. Parry blinked.

"You're what?" she asked, before thinking.

The MR finally moved, looking over at her. It was hard to tell in the bar lights, but she thought her eyes might be green, or blue. She shrugged almost bashfully, and gestured helplessly at the glass.

"I don't drink," she said. "Never have. Never been tempted. So, I'm wondering…is just coming to this horrible sweaty bar enough to fulfill tradition, or do I actually have to _drink_ this probably very nasty tasting swill as well?"

"Just being alcohol doesn't mean it tastes bad."

"No," the MR agreed. "However, being a drink that my classmates ordered for me while exchanging malicious grins, on the other hand…"

"Ah. I get it."

"What do you recommend?"

Parry looked at the glass. The booze was clear, which narrowed down the field. Gesturing at it she lifted a brow. When the MR nodded, she lifted the glass and took a sniff.

"It's tequila. Not as mean as they could have been. Just drink it fast. Better that than tempting fate."

The MR wrinkled her nose, accepting the glass back. "Well, here it goes then, I guess. Bottom's up."

She lifted the glass to her lips, paused, then took a deep breath and downed it in one motion. Immediately a look of disgust passed over her face and she grimaced, setting the glass back down and giving it a slight push, as if by increasing her distance to it she could erase the taste from her mouth.

Parry smiled. "You ok?"

"Apparently now I'm not going to die on my first mission. Go me. Not sure it was worth it," she said in a strained voice. Parry laughed, then offered her glass of water.

"Here."

The MR took the glass with a nod, then downed a healthy swig, before sighing. "Ah. Thank you. You are an angel."

"So they tell me," Parry replied, then offered her hand. "I'm Parry Mazurek."

The MR took the hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "Ray Caruso."

"Ray? Short for something?"

"Rayna, but don't ruin our brand new friendship by saying it," Ray replied. "Thank you, Parry, for the water, but now that the Gods of Superstition have been appeased this is the last place I want to be."

"I hear you on that," Parry said. "I'm not huge on bars either…especially not loud and crowded ones. It was nice to meet you, Ray."

"Nice to meet you as well, Parry."

She gave her a smile, then ducked awkwardly into the crowd. Parry watched her as she wove through the packed bodies to a distant table where a bunch of other MRs were parked. Even over the general noise of everything, she could hear the voices of the others lift up as Ray approached, picking up her jacket from one chair. She couldn't hear what was being said, but by the tone of it and the laughter, it wasn't very nice.

Parry frowned. She and her friends teased each other a lot, and Rafe could be an outright asshole, but this wasn't the same. Being tall for a girl and inherently shy, Parry had endured her fair share of bullying as a kid. She'd put it past her, but even now she could recognize bullies from a goddamn mile away.

Ray said something to them, her voice lost in the noise. There were more moans and mean comments- likely, they were badmouthing her for leaving early. Parry felt her anger lifting as Ray started toward the door, absently tying her jacket around her waist.

Glancing back toward her own table and friends, Parry could see that Jaime and Jonas had returned from the restroom. Jaime still looked unsteady, half-draped over Jonas, but she was smiling the smile of the blissfully sotted. Jonas couldn't see her from his vantage, but Rafe could. Almost immediately, the big guy gestured at her and pointed toward the door, mouthing words with exaggerated motions.

_Go. Follow. Her._

Parry followed.

* * *

The Yelchin Confederation Flight Base was considered the top flight school on the continent. It was situated just two miles outside of Stodola, Massachusetts. While the Base had extensive amenities, alcohol was strictly forbidden within the grounds. If the trainees wanted a drink, they had to get a pass off-base and walk (or catch a passing truck) to the single bar in Stodola.

Getting an off-base pass wasn't always easy, so the bar wasn't usually crowded. Graduation night was an exception- every MR got an overnight pass on graduation night, and the bar was usually wall to wall. As Parry stepped out into the midnight, late summer Massachusetts air, the temperature notably dropped several degrees. Combined with the fresh air and elbow room, it was a blessed relief.

A few MRs and officers were lingering around outside. She ignored them and looked toward the dirt road that lead to Yelchin, quickly spotting Ray as she reached the shoulder of the road and started toward the base.

She broke into a jog to catch up, falling into step beside the smaller MR as she reached her. Ray looked over at her with a surprised blink.

"Oh," she said.

"Mind if I walk with you?" Parry asked. "I was about full up of that place too."

Ray shrugged. "It's a free road."

"You ok?"

"Hmm? Oh, I'm fine," she said lightly. "Just silly. I really don't know why I even went there to begin with. I'm not superstitious. Of course I'm not going to die on my first mission just because I didn't burn my throat with tequila."

"Your…friends didn't seem too happy that you were leaving."

"I don't know what I would call them, but friends doesn't really apply," Ray said. "They were upset I was leaving only because they were hoping to get me drunk."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Probably so they could laugh at me when I inevitably did something stupid."

"Why would they-"

"I'd really rather not talk about them," Ray said. "So. Parry. I can tell by that ever so faint accent of yours you don't call Massachusetts home. Where are you from in the world?"

"Maine."

"Ah, northerner."

"Yeah. You?"

"California."

"Nice. Did you always want to be a pilot?"

"No, for a while I wanted to be a fire truck."

Parry blinked at her, and laughed when Ray smiled. "Well, in my defense, I _was_ two years old at the time. Did you want to be something odd when you were two?"

"I think I wanted to be a unicorn at some point. Not sure if I was two at the time."

"A unicorn. Practical. I like it. Strong, fast, and you can stab people with your face."

Parry laughed even harder. "That was definitely one of the appealing aspects, yes."

Ray smiled. "You said that people have told you you're an angel before?"

"Yes. Well, I mean, that's my call sign. Angel."

"What kind of angel?"

"Kind?"

"Well, yes. I mean, if they gave you your call sign meaning 'guardian angel', that would suggest you're very protective over your squadron during a firefight. If they gave it to you meaning 'angel of mercy', then that would suggest you go for the disabling shot at enemy johnnies, not the kill. If it means something like Cherub-"

"Then I fly my tourney wearing a diaper and a sash?" Parry asked with a teasing grin. Ray chuckled and shook her head.

"No, it would mean you were kind," she said gently. Parry looked at her awkwardly a moment, and after a beat of silence Ray shrugged. "So, as you can see, the kind of angel is very important. Much can be gleaned from it."

"And you want to glean much of me?"

Ray shrugged again. "I like to know the sort of person who walks me home."

"We're just happening to go to the same place at the same time," Parry hedged.

"Oh," Ray said, with a light smile. "I see. In that case, nevermind. You can remain a strange stranger."

Parry returned the smile-she couldn't seem to help it. "It's actually after the angel of death," she said. "What does that say about me?"

"That you're a very good and precise combat pilot," she said, and looked at her. "And still very kind."

"Death is kind?" Parry asked.

"It can be, but they didn't call you 'Death', did they? They called you 'Angel'. Even if it is the angel of death, that's significant."

"You…have an interesting way of thinking," Parry said.

"That's one way to put it, I guess," Ray replied.

"What about you? What call sign did you get slapped with?"

"Going to see what you can figure out about me?" Ray asked.

"If I can."

"Ripley."

"Ripley?" Parry echoed. "Couldn't be an easy one, could it?"

Ray just shrugged again, offering nothing more than an enigmatic smile. Parry's brows knit as she tried to work through it, figure out what Ripley was supposed to mean.

"My sergeant's call sign is Lobo, because his last name is Wolff. Well, your name is Ray Caruso. I don't see how Ripley ties into that, so I doubt it's based on just your name."

"Go on."

"Ripley…Ripley…hang on. Wasn't there some kind of movie way back in the olden days? Some woman miner who fights these weird black alien things?"

"You're thinking of Ellen Ripley from _Alien_."

"You just knew that off the top of your head? That has to be two hundred years old or more."

"You knew it too."

"As a vague mention I heard once, a story. You knew her full name _and_ the movie title."

"I like old cinema, what can I say?"

"Still impressive. So, that means that you fight well on your own then…that you don't back down from a challenge. You survive at any cost."

Ray smiled again. There was something about that smile that Parry knew she could very easily become addicted too.

"That's a very nice thought, but no."

"No? She was a badass, wasn't she? I remember she was supposed to be one of the first really iconic women heroes from early cinema."

"She was, but I wasn't given the name Ripley because of her."

"You weren't?"

"Nope."

"Nothing to do with her at all?"

"Nope."

"Damn it. Ok, lemme think…"

She was silent for a while longer, before she finally sighed in frustration. "I give up. I can't think of a single other Ripley, or the way it would tie in to a combat pilot."

Ray untied her uniform jacket from around her waist and began to pull it on. Now that they had cooled down from the heat of the bar, it was starting to get a bit chilly. As she did she started to talk.

"My classmates think I'm an idiot," she said. Parry frowned and nearly interrupted.

_How can they think you're an idiot? For one, idiots don't get into Yelchin. For another, you seem damn smart to me!_

Instead she bit her tongue and remained silent. She sensed there was a bit more weight about what Ray was saying than she wanted to let on, and she had a feeling this wasn't something she generally shared easily. Certainly not with someone she had just met.

"They pegged me so right from the start," she continued, fastening her jacket. "Pegged me as a simpleton, as an incompetent. At first it was just behind their hands but soon they got bold enough to stay it to my face. They would tell me I was going to wash out, that I shouldn't even bother. During simulations they would goad me over headset, try and make me screw up my numbers."

"And your sergeant allowed this?"

"Why shouldn't she?" Ray asked, looking at her. "It was their problem, not mine. I didn't care what they said. I knew it wasn't true and I didn't let it affect me. My sergeant knows that being a combat pilot means dealing with pressure. If I could keep my numbers up and keep my cool while being called names over my headset, then that said everything about my skills and keeping my head."

"I guess. Still doesn't seem right."

Ray smiled at her. "That's because you are a decent human being, and kind."

"I-I don't know about that. I don't think I'm different than anyone else…"

"You're different than _they_ were," she said, then shook her head. "Anyway. They kept trying to tag me with other call signs. 'Pig' lasted a bit- as in, 'you'll be a pilot the same day pigs fly!'"

"Fucking assholes."

"My sergeant shot them down each time. I didn't care. I would have accepted Pig as being my call sign. I'd have worn it proudly. It's only an insult if you let it be. Anyway, they kept trying to make them stick, Sgt. Lamba kept shooting them down, absolutely refusing to let them designate that as my official. They got a bit upset over that. Your squad gives you your call sign, good or bad. They didn't think she should have stopped them. Anyway, last week we were given our final flight scores-"

"Wait a second. You didn't have a call sign until _last week?"_

"Not officially, no."

Parry was flabbergasted. Mean spirited names aside, it was unheard of for someone in combat training not to have a call sign after their first month. Training lasted _two years_. That Ray had gone two years without her sergeant approving a call sign was ludicrous.

_Even mean spirited classmates should have gotten the hint and come up with something at least neutral by then._

"So…you were given your final flight scores? You obviously did well enough to MR."

"I got a two hundred," Ray said. Parry halted and caught her shoulder.

"Two _hundred?_"

"Yes."

"Two ten is the highest score possible, and that's only been given out once!"

"Yes, to Merlin Killdare. I know."

"And you got two hundred?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe it!"

She laughed. "That's what my classmates said."

"What did your sergeant say?"

Ripley's eyes twinkled in the dark as she grinned that addicting grin.

"'Believe it, or not.'"


	2. Last Day on Earth

The base was quiet, the guard on duty only half glancing at the security scanner as they passed through it in front of the pedestrian gate. The guard was only there as a failsafe anyway. Anyone without a military ID would have been DNA scanned and instantly recognized as not cleared by the security system. In a heartbeat, they'd find themselves trapped in a nearly solid metal container that could be flooded with sedative gas.

One didn't sneak onto a military base without clearance if one had any brain cells in their head.

Though Yelchin was home to almost six hundred flight trainees at any given time, quite a few had gotten MR and were off-base. Those that remained were spread over nearly ten miles in a variety of barracks, rec halls, and other amenities. At this hour of the night, even without graduation, the grounds always looked mostly deserted.

They'd had a pleasant conversation on their walk…at least, Parry had enjoyed it, and she was hoping more and more that Ray was also enjoying it. She seemed to be. She kept smiling and laughing and seemed engaged. Parry found herself saying almost anything she could just to keep bringing that smile back.

As they got on base and neared the first bank of barracks, she found herself desperately trying to think up excuses not to part ways, but couldn't think of one that didn't sound in her head like a desperate come-on.

She was focused so much on it, in fact, that she didn't notice she'd gone completely silent until Ray suddenly stopped. Jolted out of her thoughts, she blinked almost owlishly at the other woman.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," Ray said, then jabbed a thumb at the barracks door nearby. "This is my stop."

"Oh. Oh, you're in A block. I'm…I'm clear over on G block."

That explained why she'd never seen her before tonight. Their barracks were on opposite ends of the complex. They'd use different rec halls, different training floors, and different shops, and would be on completely different guard and flight rotation schedules.

"Then I guess this is goodbye for now," Ray said with another one of her smiles, offering her hand. "It was very nice talking with you, Parry. I wish you every good fortune with your assignment."

"It was nice talking to you, and same," Parry replied, mentally berating herself already at how lame that must have sounded as she took Ray's hand and shook it. "Take care of yourself. Stay safe out there."

"Oh, nothing will happen to me," Ray said. "I drank tequila, remember? I'm bullet-proof now."

Parry laughed. "That's right. The Gods of Superstition are appeased."

"Indeed." Ray nodded, then released her hand. Parry hadn't even realized she'd still been hanging on to it. "Good night, Angel."

"Good night, Ripley," she said, then watched as she turned and walked into her barracks.

* * *

Parry jolted to consciousness some hours later as someone kicked her foot.

She'd gotten back to barracks, unsurprised to find she was the only one there. The others would likely not drag themselves in until dawn, and most would receive their assignments in the midst of a miserable hangover.

She'd only bothered to take off her boots, flopping back on her bunk like a limp doll with one arm draped over her eyes. She was still in that position when her foot was lightly hit with a knee, and she snorted awake immediately, staring bleary eyed up at the blob above her.

Though she didn't normally drink, she hadn't had nearly enough to give her a real hangover. Still, it remained she'd only gotten a couple of hours sleep. Even so, her training kicked in immediately. Seeing the blob was in sergeant browns she immediately surged to her feet and snapped to attention, saluting as she blinked the sleep from her eyes.

"Not bad, Angel," Sgt. Wolff said, returning the salute. "You either hold your booze better than most or you didn't have nearly enough fun last night."

"Yes, sir," she said, lowering her arm but remaining at attention.

"You're not going to tell me which?"

"Probably not sir."

He shook his head with a chuckle. "At ease. I have your orders."

He pulled a folded data post from under his arm and offered it to her. She took it, opening it. The data post was little more than a thick membrane that mimicked heavy paper, but displayed like a computer monitor. As her thumb pressed the bottom edge, the information pertinent to her appeared, scrolling over the surface at the same time it encoded itself to the ident chip implanted in her thumb.

She read it over, then blinked, eyes going wide.

"Something wrong, Second Lieutenant?" Wolff asked. "You do not approve of your assignment?"

She looked at him. "No, sir, not…I mean, _yes_, sir, of course I approve sir, I just…this has to be a mistake."

"No mistake," Wolff said, and smiled at her. "You have earned it."

She looked back at the post, still unable to believe the words written there.

_2__nd__ Lt. Parry 'Angel' Mazurek,_

_You are to report to the TCP_ Houston _by 1100 hours Confed Standard Time on August the Nineteenth, Two Thousand, Two Hundred and Twelve for Wing assignment. _

It was signed by Colonel Wright, who headed Yelchin's flight trainee program.

"The TCP _Houston_ is the largest launch and supply platform in the Confed," she heard herself say. "It's part of the First Fleet, assigned to the front at Delta Sector."

"That is correct."

"Was this on your recommendation, sir?"

"I hardly had to recommend," he replied. "Your tests and scores spoke for themselves. You are an outstanding pilot, Angel."

"I-I don't know what to say sir. To be part of the First Fleet…out on the Delta _front_…"

"You _earned_ it," he repeated. "Congratulations, Angel. You are a MR Second Lieutenant in the Confed Air and Space Forces and you are officially a graduate of this training program. There is a transport leaving the east tarmac at 09:00 that will take you to your assigned post. You have an hour to pack and say your goodbyes, then report to Colonel Serrano on the tarmac."

She nodded, folding the post up and offering it back to him. As her thumb left the membrane, the data vanished and went dark, ready for the next set of orders to be passed on to the next MR. He took the post, tucked it back under his arm, then saluted again. "You are dismissed."

She saluted back, her head spinning. He smiled one last time, then turned and walked away. She immediately went to her footlocker, pulling out her duffel.

First Fleet. Though Jonas had joked about it, Parry had never actually dreamed she'd be assigned to the First. It was every Confed pilot's _dream_ to go to the First, fight with the best men and women and ships in the entire Confed.

_Zarold 'Merlin' Killdare serves in the First_, she thought as she stuffed her few belongings almost absently into her duffel. _Merlin goddamned Killdare himself and his entire_ Wing.

Killdare wasn't assigned to _Houston_, of course. His Wing flew out of the flagship, the TCS _Londontown_. Even so, even being part of the same Fleet as the greatest legend in Confed history was more than she had ever dared dream of!

She packed and got her boots on in record time, fastening her uniform jacket and slapping her cap on her head before slinging the duffel over her shoulder.

The east tarmac was about two miles from her barracks. While she could easily have hopped on the automated complex transport and been there in two minutes, she chose to walk it. Her head was still reeling at the news, and she wanted a chance to let it sink it a bit better.

Jaime and the others had been nowhere in sight when she'd left the barracks. They had either already gotten their orders or hadn't managed to drag themselves in from the bar yet. She hoped it was the former; if it was the latter, they would likely lose their MR status and be kicked right out of the program. The Confed understood the need for graduation night, but didn't look kindly on pilots who couldn't make it back to base on time for their assignments.

Still, she had hoped to see them if even for a few minutes. See where they were going, tell them goodbye, wish them luck. Now, unless she just happened to run into them along the way to the tarmac, her opportunity had been lost.

_The First Fleet. The First fucking Fleet. _

Delta Sector was at the edge of Confed space, right before the 'neutral zone' of Border World territories (usually just referred to as 'the Territories')- a buffer of space only three solar systems wide that separated the Confed from the Kilrathi Empire. The First Fleet's job was to guard the Delta Sector against Kilrathi strike forces or, God forbid, a full invasion. It was the hottest, most important strategic theatre of war there was.

The _Houston_ was the First Fleet's TCP- an enormous, movable launch platform that basically equated to an entire Confed colony in space, with a colony's population of personnel. The _Houston_ based the Fleet's S&R, mechanics, and repair vessels. It had an infirmary large enough to hold over six thousand wounded. It was home to the Fleet's brig and prison system. Confed Special Forces had their Fleet headquarters aboard. There were parks and recreation facilities, research and physics labs. Hell, the _Houston_ grew over half of the First Fleet's food rations, and acted as a supply depot for raw medical and repair materials ferried in from all over the Confed.

The _Houston_ had its own compliment of fighter Wings whose job it was to protect the platform whether stationary or moving, escort ships to and from its docking bays, and provide security for the platform's mobile jump gate (nicknamed 'Junior').

The _Houston_ was the very reason the First Fleet could maintain constant operations and keep Delta Front secure, and now…Parry was going to be a part of that effort.

As she neared the launch tarmac, she looked upward. Though it was still fairly early in the morning, the sky was an almost sonic blast of blue, without a cloud in sight.

_My assignment could last years_, she thought. _Or the worst could happen. This could be the last I ever see of Earth, the last I look at blue sky, feel fresh air._

She hadn't expected to feel sentimental about that fact. Ever since she was old enough to watch vids, she had wanted to go to space, be a combat pilot. It was what she was made for, and she had never doubted it.

Faced with actually leaving the planet of her birth, however, she realized she was going to miss it. She hadn't expected that.

Trying to center herself again, she reached the launch tarmac and cleared through the security gate. Transports were coming and going, at least three parked and waiting to take MRs to their assignments. The guard checked her orders on his screen as she touched her thumb to the pad, then pointed her to the proper ship.

"Good luck out there," he said with a nod and a salute, and passed her through.

The transport wasn't terribly large, and over half of its size was taken up with the huge jump-focus engines which allowed it utilize the jump gates. It was standing open, waiting for passengers, and near the steps a base colonel that was likely Serrano was speaking with a familiar figure who stood with duffel in hand.

"Rafe?" She grinned as she got near. The big guy squinted over at her from behind his mirrored sunglasses.

"Well, _you're_ happy," he said. "Must have gotten laid last night after all."

"I'd really rather not hear of the exploits of MRs on graduation night," the colonel said, and directed her pad toward Parry. "Orders?"

As she touched her thumb to the pad, her orders transferring onto it for the colonel to clear, Parry said to Rafe, "You got the First Fleet too?"

"Yeah, _Houston_," he said. "Go figure."

"You got _Houston_?" she said, looking at him. "So did I! What about Jaime and Jonas?"

"No idea about Jonas. Jaime got her orders right before I did. She's going to a colony in Beta Sector."

"That's it, you're clear," the colonel said. "We're just waiting on one more before launch."

Parry shifted her duffle on her shoulder, focusing on Rafe. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around the assignment. I never dreamed I'd actually get First Fleet."

"Me neither," he said.

"It's not a surprise, your flight score was only three points below mine. You're not excited about the assignment?"

"Oh, I'm excited," he said. "I'll be even more excited when I'm not completely hung over. I noticed you didn't come back to the bar last night. I honestly didn't think you had it in you."

"Nothing happened! Jesus Rafe-"

"Don't break my heart like that, princess. You at least kiss her?"

"I'm not going to just kiss some random stranger-"

"Did you get her name?"

"Yes, it was Ray-"

"Then she wasn't a 'random stranger', was she?"

"You are unreal, you know that? Unreal."

"_Me?_ You're the one that can barely even talk to a girl you find attractive, even half drunk on graduation night-"

"Just because I don't want to jump in the sack with someone I hardly know isn't-"

"Isn't what? Proof you're not human?"

"It's perfectly human not to want to reduce something down to just meaningless physical activity!"

"I had to blackmail you to even go talk to her. Is _talking_ 'meaningless physical activity?'"

"It is when I'm talking to _you_," she said with a grin.

"Oh ha ha. Prude."

"Lug nut."

"Nun."

"Scrag."

A voice suddenly spoke up behind Parry. "Wrench."

They both blinked and looked over with stunned surprise at the MR standing beside the colonel.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ray said as they stared. "I thought we were saying random nouns."

"Thank God you shut them up," the colonel said, offering her the pad. "Orders?"

Ray set her duffle down and pressed her thumb to the pad as Rafe and Parry exchanged looks, a slow smile suddenly spreading over the man's face as a look of horror descended on Parry's.

He turned away from her, toward Ray, and Parry half caught his arm with a weak, strangled whisper. _"Don't!"_

"Hey, I'm Rafe Gorski," he said, offering his hand toward Ray. She reached out and took it as the colonel checked the orders that had appeared on her screen.

"Ray Caruso, nice to meet you," she said. He shook her hand, then jabbed a thumb toward Parry.

"I hear you already know Angel."

"We've met," Ray said, smiling in her direction. Parry managed to close her mouth and swallow.

"Hi again."

"Hello. So since Parry didn't tell me that she likes to get into odd one-word arguments with random strangers, I take it you two know each other already?"

"Same flight class. You got assigned First Fleet too, huh?" He gave Parry a meaningful look. "Imagine _that."_

"Yes, the _Houston_," Ray said.

"The _Houston_ as well!" Rafe smiled a smile that only made Parry more nervous. "Maybe we'll get lucky enough to be in the same Wing."

"Maybe," Ray said cheerfully.

"Wouldn't that be good, Parry? All three of us in the same Wing?" He asked, looking at his friend.

"That would be something, yes," she said. Inside, she was cringing. She knew Rafe well enough to know plotting when she saw it, and the man wasn't even remotely above embarrassing her if he wanted to.

"All right, all checked in," the colonel said, clearing her pad. "On board you three. You're on a schedule."

Ray hauled up her duffle again. As she did, Rafe glanced quickly over at Parry, lowering his glasses just enough that she could see him wink at her, before he turned and headed up the stairs.

Internally, she groaned, seating her own duffle better on her shoulder.

"Well, he seems nice," Ray said with a smile as they started up the steps after him. Despite her embarrassment and her worry over future embarrassments, Parry found herself responding to that smile. It was even more addictive in the sunlight.

* * *

They stowed their bags as they got into the passenger area of the transport. There were only six seats, and just the three of them. Parry got her bag locked down then moved to go sit over with Rafe, only to be met with a pointed glare.

"You try and sit with me and not her and I will make you regret it every minute of this trip," he said in a low voice, pitched so only she could hear it.

She looked over to where Ray was stowing her bag, then back at him. "You're such an ass," she whispered.

"Yes, I'm such a terrible ass for making you go sit with a girl you like. I'll try and live with the pain."

Shaking her head, she turned and went back to where Ray had seated herself.

"Mind if I sit?"

"No, please, go ahead…but don't you want to sit with your friend?"

"I'd like some actual _intelligent_ conversation on this trip," she said, speaking more at Rafe than to Ray. He didn't look around, but his hand shot into the air, middle finger firmly extended. Ray laughed.

Parry sat, buckling up as Ray took off her cap and ruffled a hand through her hair, smoothing it back before replacing the cap. "You nervous?" she asked Parry.

"I think I'm too excited still to be nervous," Parry said. "Didn't figure I'd get First Fleet."

"Me neither. Karen- she's one of my classmates, the one that tried to stick me with 'Pig'- she overheard when I got my orders. I think her jaw hit the floor."

Parry grinned. "'Believe it or not.'"

"Exactly," Ray smiled, then looked forward as the helm door slid open. A woman in a flight suit stepped through, with short copper hair and a dusting of freckles. She had a face that smiled easily.

"Good morning. My name is Jennifer 'Diamond' Bastille. I'll be handling our flight to the Front. It will take about an hour to hit the Alpha jump gate, and we'll be transitioning directly to Junior in Delta Sector as soon as our jump path is clear. You will be on board Houston in plenty of time for duty report. Are there any questions?"

"Is this it? Just the three of us?" Rafe asked. Diamond nodded.

"For this transport, yes."

"Sorry if it's personal," Ray piped up. "But are you related to Brigadier General Bastille?"

Diamond's eyes shifted to her. "The Brigadier General is my mother," she said. "You will be meeting her soon after arriving on _Houston_- she likes to meet all new recruits personally. Trust me, she will be intimately familiar with your flight scores, performance charts, and personnel history. She's quite thorough. Any further questions? Very well. Have a good flight."

She disappeared back into the helm, the door sliding shut. Rafe looked around at Parry and Ray. "Brigadier General Bastille?"

"You seriously don't remember?" Parry asked. "C'mon Rafe. Nemesis?"

He blinked. "_The_ Nemesis? The one that fought in the Battle of Houng Tai in 2192?"

"Yes," Ray said. "She commands the _Houston_. You didn't know that?"

"Wait wait wait. Really? _The_ Nemesis. The _real _Nemesis."

"Yes, Rafe," Parry said. "The really _real_ Nemesis."

"The really _real_ Nemesis is going to be our boss?"

"So it would seem."

"Well fuck me sideways," he said, astounded, as he turned and looked out his viewport. Ray lifted a brow and leaned over toward Parry, whispering in a low voice.

"That sounds _painful_."

Parry hid her laugh behind her hand.


	3. Welcome to Houston

The flight through the solar system to the Alpha jump gate took only an hour, and it was about the fastest hour Parry could ever remember spending.

She'd been off world before, of course. Part of combat pilot training required actual vacuum training, and even as realistic as their sims were it was nothing compared to the real thing.

However, she had never been further than Jupiter orbit. While they would miss passing Mars and Jupiter today, both planets being elsewhere on their orbital ellipsis, they did get a spectacular view of Neptune and the small outpost platform that hovered just outside its rings.

The jump gate looked unimpressive as they approached it only a few minutes later. A big, dull colored hunk of metal, the gate rather resembled an old-fashioned capsule pill. Not technically a ship, it had no engines and could not really maneuver on its own. It was linked to another platform, the TCP _Terrahoga_, which hovered close by. The _Terrahoga_ provided protection and maintenance for the gate, and if needed could snag it and lock it into its side for quick transport.

As they looked out on the _Terrahoga_, Parry shook her head. "It looks enormous," she said.

"Yeah, hard to believe the _Houston_ is almost ten times bigger," Ray replied.

There was a wait for the jump gate, as there always was. It linked to every other gate in Confed territory- any traffic leaving or entering Sol for anywhere that was not literally right next door had to utilize the Alpha jump gate. They watched for a while as they hovered, waiting for their clearance signal. There was a green flash of light on the capsule each time the gate was opened and locked in. A ship would then pass by at specific coordinates and appear to vanish completely.

Parry understood the physics behind the gate, of course- any pilot did. The capsule was really just an energy focus- the gate itself was the wormhole it opened that allowed any ship flying through it to instantly arrive at another point in space without travelling through the space in between. The wormhole opening was not in visible light, so there was nothing to see but its effects. Pilot infrared, ladar, and energy sensors could detect it, however. With those, it looked like just a round shimmer, similar to heat waves rising off a hot road.

The jump gates made space travel feasible, but they also had their drawbacks. A ship had to have specialized jump focus engines to be able to even access an open wormhole, and those engines took up a lot of room (more than half of the transport they themselves were currently on). A gate could only connect to another gate- the wormhole would not form otherwise. They were incredibly expensive and time consuming to build. They relied on trillions of calculations that had to be exact each and every time so that the jump was possible, and sometimes things went wrong for no discernable reason. Though they were extremely rare, it still happened that a ship passed through an active gate and just never arrived on the other side. It was perhaps a trillion in one shot, but it did happen, and to this date no one had ever been able to figure out just why.

After about twenty minutes of watching ships vanish and the gate reset itself to the new destination, their view suddenly moved, the transport swinging into position.

"Guess we're next," Ray said. "You ever jumped before?"

"No," Parry said. "You?"

"No."

"I have. It's nothing," Rafe said, overhearing. "You won't even notice the transition itself, things just change."

"Change?" Ray asked.

"You'll see. Watch out the window."

They looked as the capsule flashed its green light. Their transport surged forward toward the invisible gate. Then, the capsule and the _Terrahoga_ vanished with a snap, like a switch had been thrown and just clicked them out of existence. At the same time, another capsule appeared in a different position. Behind it, the stars were different. A distant gas giant, far enough away that a quarter pressed to the window would have covered it, had clicked into being. The far lights of a variety of ships now hovered where they hadn't before.

That was it. Just that fast, they had left the Sol system and were now hundreds of thousands of light years away in Delta Sector, in the midst of the First Fleet.

"Transition complete," Diamond's voice spoke from the com near the door. "We are now on final approach to TCP _Houston_."

"I don't see it," Parry said, leaning over more as she searched the view.

"You're on the wrong side," Rafe said, looking over at them. "Over here."

She and Ray both quickly unbuckled and crossed the little aisle to the other set of seats that Rafe had taken over, looking out the port side windows. Parry's eyes went wide.

"Holy fuck…"

The TCP _Houston_ was just below them, almost filling their view on the port. _Massive_ didn't do it justice. The top level of the station was curved in a slightly flattened dome that alone had to be nearly a hundred square kilometers across. It glistened with millions of solar collectors, radiation shields, and communications arrays. Below the first level, the other levels were perfect squares, each slightly offset from the other until the shape of the platform almost formed a spiral, most of which was invisible from their vantage.

Scale was, at first, almost impossible to determine, until she caught sight of a destroyer moving in toward the station at one of the maintenance docks. The destroyer would be easily twenty times the size of their transport-against the platform, it looked like a gnat.

"The upper level under the solar collectors will be the park and farmland," Ray said. "They have to shield it of course, this is a war zone and a big hydroponics dome would be a massive weak spot, but they'll have reflectors that pipe the proper light wavelengths into the areas with vegetation."

Rafe gave her an odd look, but said nothing as he returned his eyes to the viewport. All three remained in silence, watching the station quickly grow even larger and closer as they aimed for one of the docking bays. Only when they passed into the bay did they move away from the windows and go to gather their things.

Diamond appeared out of the helm a moment later, nodding to them. "Bay is a bit crowded, we've got recruits coming in from all over the Confed. Someone will check your orders as soon as you disembark. Good luck out there, pilots."

Shouldering her duffle again, Parry took a deep breath against the nerves now tightening her stomach. This was what she had worked for all her life…getting _here._

_Now I just need to make sure I don't fuck it up somehow._

The bay was indeed crowded. Hundreds of uniforms were emerging from dozens of transports, all with duffels over their shoulders. The noise of conversation made a dull, echoing roar. As they stepped down from their own transport, Parry looked out on the crowd. Some were young, newly MR'd pilots like themselves, no doubt. Others were clearly vets.

_Transfers from other parts of the Confed, reassigns...if any front in this war would have high turnover, it would be Delta._

A colonel was standing next to the stairs. He held out a pad to each of them in turn, checking their orders. Ray was the last, and as her information came up he squinted at her oddly before nodding.

"You're all clear. Follow the crowd for duty report."

"What was that about?" Rafe asked as they joined the flow of the other pilots across the bay. Ray was looking around, and it took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her.

"Hmm? What was what?"

"He gave you a funny look."

"Did he?"

"You didn't notice?"

"No. I don't know why he would."

"It's probably your flight score," Parry said. "Not many get that high, I'm sure."

"What? What was your flight score?" Rafe asked.

"Two hundred," Ray replied. He stared.

"You got a _two hundred_? No wonder you got _Houston_."

"You got _Houston_ too," she pointed out, and resumed her looking around. Rafe stared at Parry, who shrugged.

As the crowd entered the far doors it tightened a little, flowing into a wide corridor then nearly going to a standstill. The bulk of the crowd was going to the right, being directed by personnel, but as they neared the juncture Parry caught sight of a colonel scrutinizing the group, occasionally gesturing someone out of it, speaking to them briefly, then pointing them to the left.

Something about the colonel was familiar, but Parry couldn't remember ever having seen her before. She was in her forties, easily, with black hair had only started to hint toward gray. Her eyes appeared to be silver- combined with some faint white scars around them that became noticeable as they got closer, Parry concluded she'd had ocular implants put in to repair an injury.

Then, those silver eyes landed on them, and the colonel gestured. "You three. Come here."

Rafe, Parry, and Ray exchanged looks, then stepped out of the crowd over to where the colonel was standing. As they tossed off salutes, she almost absently returned them.

"You three are from Yelchin? Mazurek, Caruso, Gorski if I remember right?"

"Yes ma'am," Rafe said.

"Leave your duffels here for now, they'll be taken care of. I want you three to go this way. Take a right at the end of the hall, go inside, and take a seat."

She pointed to the left. Confused, the three left their bags with a small stack of others, then headed toward the left. As the noise of the crowd died, Ray looked back and then leaned toward Parry.

"Do you know who that was?"

"She looked a bit familiar but I couldn't place it," Parry said.

"That was Diane Rochester. That was _Shadow._"

"Merlin Killdare's _wingman_ Shadow?"

"Yes!"

"Jesus fuck, do you know _everyone_ in the Confed?" Rafe asked.

"Yes, all of them," Ray said dryly. "I send them Christmas cards every year."

"Why would they have one of Alpha Wing directing recruit traffic?" Parry asked. "For that matter, why did _we_ get pulled out?"

"I suspect they'll tell us at some point," Rafe said, as they reached the end of the hall and turned right. A door was standing open, and inside they could see a small conference room where others were already seated. As they went in and sat down, the others looked at them. From their expressions it was clear they had no more of an idea what was going on than anyone else.

At the front of the conference room was a small podium and a door. Near the front row of seats, another MR was standing, a young man, silently regarding the room.

Almost immediately upon sitting down, an MR in the row in front of them turned around in his seat and thrust his hand at Parry. His hair was wild and a rather bright shade of red. "Hey, Marty," he said. "I mean, that's me, not you. Obviously. Do you know what's going on?"

"Parry," she said, taking the hand. He offered it to Ray and then to Rafe, both of whom introduced themselves. "And no, no idea."

"It's weird isn't it? I wonder what we did wrong."

"We haven't been here long enough to do something wrong," Ray said.

"Well, that may be true for most people, but I tend to get up to mischief pretty quick," he said. "Oh, we got more now."

Parry turned to see two more MRs enter the room, self-consciously looking for seats. Marty immediately zeroed in on them, lifting his voice. "Hey, guys…you know what's up?"

"No clue," the taller of the two said.

"Where you from?"

"Jefferson."

"Jefferson huh? You guys?" he looked back at Parry and her two friends.

"Yelchin," she said.

"Yelchin, nice. Me and Rabbit are from Boriston." He jabbed a thumb toward the quiet young man sitting beside him. "Huh. All new MRs. No vets in here."

His eyes shifted again as someone new came in, then he quickly turned back around in his seat. Shadow touched the pad next to the door, closing it before heading down the aisle toward the front. Everyone fell quiet as she spoke briefly and quietly with the MR who had not seated himself. As the door near the podium opened she immediate looked at the room and barked.

"Attention! General on deck!"

Almost as one, the entire room got to their feet, immediately snapping to attention and saluting as the Brigadier General entered.

Parry's first thought as Helen Bastille came in was that she looked very much like her daughter. They were of a height, with the same shade of ginger hair cut to almost the same length. The General's was starting to strongly go gray, however, and lines had started to sink in at the corners of her mouth and eyes. As she reached the podium she gave a quick but efficient salute, nodded to Rochester, and then to them.

"At ease," she said, her voice noticeably touched with French. "Be seated."

As they sat down, her keen eyes panned over them. "I am Brigadier General Helen 'Nemesis' Bastille, in command of the TCP _Houston_- your new assignment. This is Colonel Diane 'Shadow' Rochester of the First Fleet's SFT Alpha Wing stationed on the TCS _Londontown._"

She glanced over at Shadow, who nodded toward them ever so faintly. Then Bastille tucked her hands behind her back and straightened.

"Starting from my left, I want you to each stand, give your rank and name, followed by your callsign and graduation academy. Proceed."

The first MR at Bastille's left rose to her feet. She was small, her light, mouse brown hair styled in a pixie cut. "Second Lieutenant Judith Ferry," she said. "_Tinkerbell._ Johannesburg."

She sat and the young man sitting beside Marty stood up. "Second Lieutenant Jason Maduri. _Rabbit_. Boriston."

Marty stood as Jason sat down. "Second Lieutenant Martin Cox. _Hobby_. Boriston."

Rafe got to his feet. "Second Lieutenant Rafael Gorski. _Hammer_. Yelchin."

Parry rose. "Second Lieutenant Parry Mazurek. _Angel_. Yelchin."

Bastille was looking intently at each MR as they rose and spoke. When her eyes landed on Parry she felt like a mouse that had just been spotted by an eagle. It was a slightly disconcerting feeling.

As Parry sat down and Ray went to get up, her hand landed briefly on Parry's- whether by accident or design, Parry couldn't tell, but a sudden flush of heat over her cheeks made her hope desperately she wasn't blushing.

"Second Lieutenant Rayna Caruso," she said. "_Ripley_. Yelchin."

Bastille's eyes measured her, then moved on as the next MR stood, this one a stunningly attractive young woman with skin that looked carved of ebony, and very close-cropped hair. "Second Lieutenant Constansi Jainaba. _Siren_. Johannesburg."

As she sat, the final two recruits who had entered just before Rochester stood up and gave their introductions.

"Second Lieutenant Hank Harper. _Gameshow_. Jefferson."

"Second Lieutenant William Temple. _Pagan_. Jefferson."

Bastille nodded, then turned her eyes to the silent MR who was still standing near the front. As she looked at him, he straightened to attention and cleared his throat.

"First Lieutenant Jondell Killdare," he said. "_Reaper_. Phoebus."

In front of them, Marty made a muffled sound of surprise before the name clicked with Parry. She lifted her eyebrows, looking at the MR.

_Killdare? _

"Very well," Bastille said, then looked at the room in general again. "Each of you was offered this assignment at _Houston_ on recommendation from the heads of the Confed's top rated training programs. You each represent the highest flight scores from those programs and your training officers believe there is something within each of you that makes you especially suited for this assignment. You will notice there are ten of you in this room. The astute of you will also have deduced that there are ten fighters to each combat Wing that flies on the front. You ten have been selected for a tactical combat Wing designated special forces, codenamed _Rho_."

"_Special forces_?" Parry heard Rafe whisper. "We're not special forces!"

As if she'd overheard him, Bastille said, "We are well aware that you have received no special forces training. That is why you have been assigned to the TCP _Houston_. For the next fifty two weeks, you will be under an intensive program commanded by Colonel Rochester and other veterans of the Special Forces Tactic Wings of this Fleet. Once that training is complete Rho will be available for various SFT missions both on the front, in the Territories, and potentially within Kilrathi space as well."

Parry could feel each heartbeat echoing through her chest. Special Forces. Strike tactics in enemy space. _Your training officers believe there is something within each of you that makes you especially suited for this assignment._

What? What could she possibly have demonstrated during training that would make them think she was suited for special forces combat? She was a damn good pilot, sure, but it took more than just good piloting. Skills and talents to make special forces were rare, and she couldn't think of a single one of them that she herself possessed that was any different than any other combat pilot.

_There has to be a mistake_.

Bastille had that measuring, hawk-eyed gaze again, regarding each of them. "Again, you will notice that there are only ten of you. You are not vying for a slot in this program. You are not competing against each other for this opportunity. It is yours. The nine others in this room are your Wing. You will learn to fight together, work together, think as one unit. If you fail, they fail. As you speak to each other in the next few days you will also discover another interesting item you all share in common."

Her eyes sharpened yet more. "You all have no family outside of this room. It is that way on purpose. Your Wing is your family. Those seated around you now, they are your brothers and sisters. You have no ties to anything outside of the Confed and outside of this Wing."

She straightened slightly. "In the entirety of the Confed there are only seventeen SFT Wings in operation. You will be the eighteenth. Lastly, like all other assignments in the Confed your inclusion in this program is not voluntary. This is your assignment, this is where you are needed, this is where your skills will best be utilized in defense of your planet and your species. If you wish to be reassigned or transferred you may put in for such, but I will consider only the most unique and pressing of circumstances to grant such a transfer. The human race is at war, ladies and gentlemen. You are in the Confed. You will fight and if necessary die for the preservation of everything that is _us_. And you will do your people proud, of that I have no doubts. Colonel, First Lieutenant. I turn this over to you."

"On your feet!" Rochester ordered, and the room rose again as Bastille stepped away from the podium and saluted them. As one, they saluted in return.

After she had gone, Shadow ordered them to sit as well, then pointed toward Reaper.

"First Lieutenant Killdare has been assigned as Wing Commander of Rho Wing," she said. "Myself and the other SFT Wing pilots will supervise your progress and set up your training schedule, however you will report to Killdare as your commanding officer. He will report to us, we will report to Bastille. Lieutenant."

"Thank you Colonel," he said, and turned to face them. "Our training begins in the morning. You will receive your bunk room assignments and schedule in short order. The _Houston_ has enough room for solitary bunks within barracks but they remain a cot and a pot. Showers and dining are communal, and you will have the rest of today to familiarize yourself with the station facilities. You will have clearance to all areas pertinent to the combat Wings of this station. Our day will begin early. We will meet tomorrow at 0430 on the flight deck. One benefit of SFT is we get access to the cutting edge fighter tech but they will differ from the training scrags and even full tourneys you've piloted before now. We will do combat exercises tomorrow morning to help familiarize you with the new ship designs and with each other's fighting strengths and weaknesses. I will evaluate how you fly together and assign you your wingmen accordingly, as well as appoint one of my own. Are there any questions?"

Parry had about a million of them running through her head, but none she dared articulate. Not here, anyway. When no hands were raised, he nodded.

"Very well. Good luck and good afternoon. Wing dismissed."


	4. Follow the Tech Geeks

_A cot and a pot. He wasn't kidding._

Parry stood in the door of the bunk she'd been assigned in barracks, regarding the room. It was a step above Yelchin's barracks which were little more than rows of bunk beds, and far more than she was expecting, but it definitely was nothing to write home about. Were she to step into the room and stretch her arms out, she had no doubt her fingertips would brush each wall.

The bunk itself stood to the left. A mirror, sink, and toilet were on her right. The walls were blank and iron gray. There was no window or view port.

A package wrapped in plastic lay on the bunk, atop blankets so crisply and tightly made a coin could have bounced off of them. At the foot of the bunk was her locker, and someone had set her duffel atop it. Stepping in to allow the door to close, she went over and unwrapped the package.

It was a stack of new uniform jackets, three of them. They had her rank, Confed insignia, and her last name stitched over the left breast, like her old jackets. However, unlike her old jackets each arm bore the symbol of the SFT-a hawk on a field of stars with bloody talons framing '1st'. Just below that, in tiny letters, was her callsign.

She sat on the bunk and held one of the jackets in her hand, running her finger over the SFT sign. She didn't know how to feel. Even the excitement she'd had that morning on finding out her assignment had faded into an almost protective numbness- as if her soul was so overwhelmed it chose to shut everything off rather than endure the overload.

First Fleet. The _Houston_. Special Forces training for an SFT Wing. A new Wing Commander with the last name of Killdare.

_He must be Merlin's son_, she thought. She didn't even know Merlin _had_ a son. News reports from the front and military mission specs weren't big on family fluff pieces.

_If he_ is _Merlin's son, then Bastille was mistaken_, she thought. _She said none of us had family outside of this Wing, no ties outside the Confed._

Rubbing a hand over her face, she rose to her feet, unzipping her Yelchin jacket and removing it, before setting it aside. Picking up the new jacket she pulled it on, tugging it into perfect regulation shape. Then she went to her duffle, unzipping it.

She had little in the way of personal possessions, but there was one item that she prized above all others. Reaching into her bag she found it sealed in its little case, and took it out, looking it over carefully. The camera seemed to have come through the move with no damage.

Little larger than the palm of her hand, the camera had a chip implanted in it per military reg. Sensors throughout any Confed ship or station would detect the camera and prevent it from functioning in any area where there might be sensitive or classified materials. It was a requirement for her to be allowed to have it.

Sliding it into the pocket of her cargo pants, she left her small bunk and tracked down a map display at the end of the barracks' corridor. Finding her destination, she headed toward the lift.

Four lifts and a small rapid transport later, Parry blinked against bright 'sunlight' and shielded her eyes as she stepped onto real grass.

The park took up part of the enormous dome on _Houston_'s top level. As manicured as any park on Earth, for a moment she almost felt she was back on her home planet. Trees moved in a faint breeze, the smell of blooming flowers and fresh water filled her nose, blue 'sky' was overhead.

Yet, at the same time, something was slightly off. The air was fresh but had that faint, dry, tinny feel that told her it came mostly from ship generators, moved around by a massive ventilation system. The light was warm and soothing, but it didn't quite feel on the skin the same way real, rich sunlight did. The sky was _too_ blue, _too_ perfect…nothing more than a uniform holographic projection that lacked the same nuance of shade.

The park had many purposes, of course. Partly, it was designed to give people who were out on deep space assignments- sometimes for decades at a time-some semblance of home. Also, the trees, grass, and flowers were all real, and helped supplement the huge platform's oxygen supplies while helping to scrub waste gasses such as CO2 from the station air. The small ponds and streams were water reclamation reserves, and some helped to cultivate natural and necessary algae and bacteria that served a hundred different uses in nutrition and medicine.

While such systems didn't make the platform completely self-sustaining, it did insure that it had to rely on a minimum of valuable supplies and extended the life of certain equipment so it did not have to be replaced nearly as often.

And, of course, it was pretty.

Things had happened so fast from the moment she'd opened her eyes that morning to Sgt. Wolff's kick she'd had no real time to process anything. Walking around the park, taking pictures of the flowers, trees, and curving pathways, gave her the chance to think, to reflect over everything that had happened in just a few short hours.

She was glad that Rafe was there with her. While he could be an asshole, and they teased each other a lot, she genuinely considered him one of her best friends. They'd worked together for two years, knew each other's strengths and weaknesses and skills. While he didn't always go about it in a way that Parry would have liked, he did look out for her and she honestly believed he really did want the best for her.

People didn't always take him seriously…not as a pilot, anyway. He was a big guy, and people often made the conclusion that big equaled stupid. Not that Rafe was going to be the next Confed star physicist or anything, but he was _far_ from stupid.

_He's a damned good pilot and a good man_. _He deserves to be here_, she thought, sitting down on the grass near one of the reclamation ponds, filing through her camera.

It was funny, now that she thought about it. People often dismissed Rafe at first because they thought he was dumb- yet here he was, having been selected for SFT. Then, there was Ray. According to what she'd told Parry, her class had also thought she was dumb, treated her like she was just taking up space, or as an object of derision. Parry could sort of understand why someone would think a big guy who looked like a Kansas farmer was slow at first, but the thing with Ray just baffled her.

_Why would they think she was stupid? And even if they did at first, why for so _long_? Two years is a long time to just keep dismissing someone as an idiot._

Ray had struck her as quite the opposite of an idiot- indeed, she seemed incredibly smart. She was funny, even if her sense of humor was a bit unique, and seemed pretty confident in herself. At least, confident enough not to care when she was ridiculed or dismissed (or at least to appear as though she was). She didn't seem bitter, didn't seem as if she was trying to prove something to someone else.

Of course, Parry didn't know her very well yet. They'd only met the night before. Ray seemed to genuinely enjoy her company, and Parry really wanted to _get_ to know her better- a fact that made her cheeks heat up all over again. That they were going to be in the same Wing could either be an incredible blessing…or a total tragedy.

Then, there was Parry herself. She was a really good pilot and worked hard. It was her dream, and what she honestly felt she was born to do. She'd been working toward it as long as she could remember. She was smart enough too, studied intently, always completing tests or assignments in the top five percent. At the same time, however, she was quiet most of the time, an introvert, comfortable in her own company. Her hobbies were all solitary activities- reading, or taking photos. She was a bit shy, and far preferred quiet observation until she got to know someone more than just tossing herself into a new group and drawing them around her like Rafe did.

She was on the high end of good as a pilot, but there were still a million other pilots just like her. Her test scores were sharp but not 'catch your attention and drop your jaw' sharp. Her two years at Yelchin were good but still rather unremarkable- there were no outstanding acts of derring-do that would have put her in the spotlight. She had no idea why anyone had thought she was special forces material, but clearly someone had.

_Are you going to pick apart why someone would have thought you were a good match for this assignment, or are you going to do your damndest to prove whoever it is had it right?_

That was the crux of it. Whatever the reasons, she was _here_. She either deserved to be here, or she didn't, and it was up to her which it was going to be.

_Prove yourself worthy, or wash-out and ask Bastille for a transfer. It's a simple as that._

Her left earlobe suddenly tingled faintly. Lifting her hand, she touched the chip embedded in her thumb to the one in her earlobe, activating her implanted bud.

"Mazurek."

_{You eat yet? Or are you still wandering around the park contemplating the vastness of the universe and your humble place within it?}_ Rafe asked. Parry blinked, and realized abruptly she'd had nothing since the night before.

"I…am not necessarily in the park."

_{A lot has happened you need to think about,}_ he said. _{You_ are '_necessarily in the park', and I'd bet a week's pay you have your camera in your hand. You also didn't answer me, princess. Did you eat yet?}_

She set the camera down quickly on the grass beside her, as if to defy what he said. "Not yet, no."

_{Then get your butt down here to the mess. If it 'incentivizes' you any, your lovely-and frankly, _weird_-paramour is here too.}_

She colored. "Rafe!"

_{Don't worry, she can't hear me. She's at the other end of the chow line. Now get down here, Mazurek. Out.}_

She got to her feet, picking her camera up as she did and sliding it back into her pocket. As if spurred by the reminder that food existed and was a good thing, her stomach growled a little as if to urge her on.

_Did I think that I was grateful Rafe got this assignment too?_ she thought, heading over toward the lift. _I may have to take that back…_

* * *

It didn't take Parry long to find the assigned mess hall, and the smell of chow as she walked in got her already growling stomach into a full on fit. Two dozen long tables lined the hall, and most were filled. Glancing over she spotted Rafe first. It didn't surprise her that he was sitting in a group of others- Rafe seemed to have a gravity that drew other people to him, despite his random surges into asshole territory. It wasn't until she spent a moment looking to see where Ray was that she realized the group at the table with Rafe was pretty much everyone in her new Wing, with only one notable exception.

_Killdare isn't here_, she thought as she joined the line. It took only a few minutes for her tray to be filled with the various unidentifiable slops the Confed loved to feed its personnel, and she headed over toward her new Wing.

As she neared, Rafe nodded at her, then looked at Marty, who was sitting next to him. "Move," he said firmly. Instantly Marty slid over, eyes round.

"Anything you say, big guy."

"Ignore him, he's not nearly as scary as he thinks he is," Parry said, taking the seat.

"While I don't doubt you're right, I'm _pretty_ sure he can use me to pick his teeth, and that's not a fate I particularly want," Marty said.

"Hey, you were…Parry, right? Angel?" The woman with the pixie cut sitting across from her rose just enough to offer her hand. Parry nodded, shaking her hand.

"That's right."

"Judy," she said. "Tinkerbell."

"I thought it was Judith," Marty said. She glared at him a little.

"And I'm pretty sure you gave your name as Martin, did you not? Would you prefer I call you that?"

"Hell no."

"I'm willing to bet nearly everyone here goes by something other than their given," the blonde man next to Tinkerbell said. "I mean…Marty instead of Martin, Rafe instead of Rafael, Judy instead of Judith…"

"Weren't you Hank?" Rafe asked, looking at him.

"Yes, but it's kind of hard to shorten Hank."

"Not true. You could shorten it to Ha," Marty said.

Hank gave him a look and half a smirk. "Please don't call me 'Ha'."

Marty grinned. "Your callsign is Gameshow, isn't it? How'd you get that one?"

Hank smiled, then flourished his hands as if he were about to perform a magic trick. Sitting up straight, he fiddled with his hair a moment, drawing a tiny lock forward onto his forehead and shaping it into a perfect curl. Then he struck a cocky position and said in the perfect announcer's voice.

"That's right, ladies and gentlemen! Tell him what he won!"

He grinned with a wink, and Parry was pretty sure his teeth actually gleamed.

"Ok, that's just awesome…and a bit disturbing," Marty said with a laugh.

Hank brushed his hair back with a bit of a shrug. "I used to do voices when I was young. What about you? How did you get stuck with 'Hobby?'"

"Are you kidding me?" Marty pointed at his bright red hair. "I got pegged with that nickname in grade school. About the time that stupid cartoon came out."

"You mean _Doogie Hobby's Funtime Adventure_?" Judy said. "The cartoon with that clown with the bright red hair?"

"Yeah, exactly."

"Oh _yeah_. I see it now. The similarity is surprisingly exact," Hank said.

"Yeah, I knew I'd love you guys," Marty said with a dry smirk.

"I'm more interested in _her_ story," Temple said, nodding toward the woman sitting beside Jason. Temple was a skinny fellow, with eyes that seemed half asleep. Parry didn't know if that was just the natural way they were, or if he really was exhausted for some reason.

The target of his nod looked up at him with an elegantly arched brow. "You do realize I am sitting right here?" she said, with a faint Afrikaans accent.

"Yeah," he grinned. "I have been _very_ well aware of your proximity, _trust me_."

"You must simply get _all_ the ladies," she replied sarcastically.

"Ignore him, he's about as subtle as a shuttle accident," Hank said.

"I just want to know how she got her handle, that's all," Temple replied.

"That must be why you're drooling in your tray," Rafe said, giving him a firm look. "Be polite and _ask_ her."

"Pagan doesn't know the meaning of the word 'polite'," Hank said, and looked at her himself. "Your name was something I couldn't pronounce…"

"Constansi Janaiba," she said. "Connie, please. I suppose I fall in line with the going trend of shortened names in this Wing."

"And Siren? How'd you get that?"

Her eyes glittered with some amusement. "When I started training, I discovered-quite by accident- a little trick. If you hold down the recharge feed and flutter your trigger just right, it creates a temporary short in your firing mechanism and sets off your alerts. It reads to other ships as if your weapons have gone down completely. Hold off on the thrust, nudge the stick a little to set you drifting, and do that-"

"You would look disabled and without weapons," Judy said excitedly, eyes widening.

"Precisely. Enemy goes on the offensive, thinking they have an easy kill, leaving themselves wide open. Next thing they know, you're weapons live and lighting them up like Christmas."

"That's…actually pretty brilliant," Parry said.

"As I said, I discovered it by accident, but it was enough for the name."

"Siren," Ray said. "Because your song lures men to their deaths."

It was the first time she'd said anything. The group all looked over at her where she sat on the end, quietly watching. Connie seemed surprised to realize she was there, before she nodded with a smile.

"Yes, exactly."

"I think I'm in love," Temple said, dreamily staring at Connie. Hank punched him in the shoulder.

"Uh…so, how crazy is this," Marty said, looking at Ray curiously before turning his attention back to the others. "Bastille said something about us all having no families. That right? I mean, it is for me. Only kid, raised by my aunt. She died six years ago."

Rafe grunted with a nod. "Had a brother that drowned by accident when he was three. Destroyed my mother. She ended up killing herself when I was fourteen. My father drank himself to death."

"Wow, that's…_cheerful_," Hank said. Rafe glanced at him with irritation.

"Just is what it is," he said. "What about you?"

One by one, they told about their families. All of them had parents that had either died or that they'd never known, either no siblings or ones that had also died. Parry felt a bit awkward listening to everyone's stories. She knew they were supposed to talk, to open themselves up. They were a Wing, and their lives would literally be in each other's hands. They had to learn to trust each other. Still, talking about her folks was not something she generally did, and hearing about other people's pain only seemed to make it a little worse.

Then Marty leaned over his mostly empty tray and looked over at Ray, who had remained silent throughout. "What about you?"

She shrugged. "They vanished."

"Vanished?" Hank asked. "Like…MIA? Kidnapped? Something like that?"

"They were on the _Tundra._"

Looks were exchanged. No one had to ask what the _Tundra_ was. Anyone who didn't live under a rock on a remote colony knew what the _Tundra_ was.

A non-military passenger liner, the _Tundra_ had been thrust into instant fame two years before, when it passed into a jump wormhole in the Corvais Sector, heading back to Earth. It went in…and never came out the other side. The jump gates were shut down, a huge investigation was launched, but like the few inexplicable cases before it, there was no apparent cause. The calculations had been correct. The gate had been calibrated precisely. Everything had gone like clockwork. The ship had simply disappeared.

Her three hundred and seventy seven crew and passengers had vanished right along with her.

"Gotta admire the Confed," Rafe said, breaking the silence. "Picking people who have no family for the SFT makes sense."

"It does, but it doesn't apply to all of us," Connie pointed out. "Or was I the only one to notice our new WC's last name?"

"Oh my goodness, _yes!_" Judy said, leaning forward with excitement. "I just about couldn't breathe! He's got to be Merlin's son or something, right?"

"It could be a coincidence. I mean, the name Killdare isn't common but that doesn't mean they're related," Jason said.

"Oh, they're related," Hank said. "You guys have seen pics and vids of Merlin, right? They look fucking identical, except age."

"You think we're token?" Marty asked. "Give the big hero's kid his own Wing?"

"That's ridiculous," Rafe said. "The Confed isn't going to throw an entire group of pilots into special forces just to pander to some kid's ego, no matter _who_ he's related to."

"Which means he's probably every bit as good as his old man," Jason said. "No pressure, right?"

"Who do you think he'll pick as his wingman?" Judy asked.

"That's easy. Who's the best pilot here?" Hank asked.

"Not so easy," Rafe replied. "What makes someone the best pilot?"

"Highest flight scores," Hank said.

"That doesn't tell you anything other than they are very good at the technical aspects," Connie said. "Someone could have the highest flight score possible and fly like a robot, with no feel for the stick, no feel for strategy. High flight scores are good, but they do not define 'best pilot.'"

"That may be true, but they sure as hell are a good indication," Hank said. "So who's got the highest flight score here?"

"It's a tie, actually."

Heads snapped around to the new voice, silence falling as they stared at the man standing at the end of the table. Jondell Killdare had a tray in his hand, and as they looked at him he nodded, and then gestured slightly with it. "May I?"

There was a general murmur, and some shifting. As space opened up, he sat down on the opposite side from Rafe and Parry, next to Hank and Temple.

"Tie…?" Rafe said, scrutinizing him as he unwrapped his utensils with deft, practiced motions.

"Yes," Jondell said, looking at him. "Ferry and Caruso registered the highest flight scores. They both obtained two hundreds."

Eyes shifted to the women in question. "Shit, _really_?" Marty said with a grin.

"You find that hard to believe?" Judy asked.

"No, no, not at all. Just fucking impressed."

"So…" Rafe was still regarding Jondell with an intent thoughtfulness. "Do you know which one you're going to make your wingman?"

"No," Jondell replied evenly, meeting his eyes. "It may be neither of them. I am not going to assign wingmen based on flight scores."

"What will the assignments be based on then?" Jason asked.

"How people fly together," Jondell replied. "Whose skills and talents and styles complement each other best."

"That means that people from the same academy program have a higher chance of being assigned together," Judy said thoughtfully. "I mean, Connie and I were in the same flight class at Johannesburg. We know each other's styles."

As the conversation rambled on, the pilots trying to stay at ease but noticeably a bit stiffer now that Killdare had joined them, Parry found herself watching Ray. She'd barely spoken since they'd sat down. When the others were talking about their families, they had a note of emotion to their stories- grief, or anger, or nostalgia. Ray had mentioned hers vanishing in the same tone, and with the same emotion, as she might have commented on her beans being slightly cold.

It seemed unlike the woman she'd talked to the night before, walking home from the bar- unlike the one she'd sat next to on the transport here. Parry wondered if she was all right, or if this was just her way of coping and adjusting to everything that was going on…much like Parry retreating to the park to take pictures was her way of processing.

Marty was clearly a garrulous sort that was friendly to everyone, and he seemed to have noticed Ray's indifference as well. At any rate, he kept looking over at her, a repetitive motion that was starting to trouble Parry for reasons she couldn't quite define.

Killdare was the first to finish and then excuse himself. As he left, the group seemed to visibly relax once again, and inside Parry shook her head. As intimidating as it was to have Killdare's son be their WC, they would need to trust their leader, look at him as more than just a name. That couldn't happen if everyone turned to stone the moment he got anywhere near them.

_They've got to realize he's just as human as they are_, she thought, then sighed. _Take your own advice, Parry. You tensed up just as much as the rest of them._

Slowly, the group started to disband a bit, many of them still eager to explore the rec areas of the platform or find their own ways to sort out the excitement of the day. Parry didn't know when Ray had gone, only noticing both she and her tray had disappeared when Hank and Jason got up to leave. Realizing that Rafe was distracted talking to Judy and Temple, she decided to beat her own retreat, slipping away and bussing her tray before heading to the door.

Idly she thought she might return to the park, or head down to the rec center maybe, see what was there.

_Maybe that's where Ray went_, she thought.

Then, suddenly, Marty was beside her. "Hey, heading downstairs?" he asked. She looked down at him, realizing for the first time just how small the man was. She had only seen him sitting down before now.

_He's got to be at least five inches shorter than I am_, she thought. _Standing side by side, he'd look like a ten year old compared to Rafe._

"I was thinking about going to the rec center," she said.

"Oh good. Mind if I tag along?"

She shrugged and he grinned, falling in to step with her.

"Good, good. So hey…Ripley. She's a little…_interesting,_ isn't she?"

She looked at him. "How do you mean?"

"Well, you know, she's got that whole scientist thing going."

She must have looked baffled, because he lifted his brows. "You know, scientist thing? Sits back, observes the wild pilots in their natural habitat? I mean, there we were, the rest of us chatting, and she was just…_watching_ us. I thought…you know…you may have some insight. Just nerves maybe? She's just the quiet kind?"

"I don't really know," she said. "Could be nerves."

"Oh. I thought you two were friends? Like you and the Big Guy."

"Rafe was in my training class. I've known him for two years. I just met Ray last night."

"Really? Dude, I totally misread that. You just seemed worried about her and all. I figured you-…" He broke off, staring at her. "Wait-…"

"What?"

He grinned. "You're totally into her, aren't you?"

Some sort of expression must have crossed her face unbidden, because he hooted. "Oh my God you seriously _are!_"

Embarrassed, she scowled and picked up speed. He trotted to catch up. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound like I was making fun of you. I really wasn't. I'm a bit of a blabbermouth if you hadn't already noticed. So, you met her last night? That would have been graduation…few drinks at the bar, your eyes caught each other's across a smoky room-"

"It wasn't anything like that," she said.

"The room wasn't smoky?"

"Look-"

"I'm not making any judgment calls, just trying to get to know my Wing, that's all. So, is she into you too?"

"As I said, I just met her _last night_," she replied, irritated. "We talked a little while, that's all. We barely know each other."

"That's cool. Getting to know each other's half the fun, right? I…oh, _hey_ Ripley."

They rounded the corner to the rec area only to see the subject of their conversation was leaning against one wall, as if waiting for a bus. She straightened as she caught sight of them, giving a cheerful but faint smile.

"Hello."

"Hey, we were just gonna see if there was any pool," Marty said. "I promised Jason I'd snag us a table-"

"Jason is already in there," Ray said.

"Oh…yeah. Yeah, that's right, he was going to do the snagging and I was going to be late and make an idiot of myself and…I'd better go. Pool. Yeah."

He hurried past her and inside, leaving the two alone in the corridor. Parry looked at Ray.

"You all right?"

"Fine, why?"

"You were just…quiet, that's all."

"I'm fine," Ray said again, with a reassuring smile.

"Did you want to go in? Play a game or something?" Parry asked, gesturing weakly at the rec room door.

"Not really," Ray said. "Actually, I was thinking of heading to the flight deck. See if I can't sneak a peek at our new fighters before tomorrow morning."

"The flight deck? Keep it down, Ray, you're getting a bit too wild and crazy for me," Parry teased. Ray laughed.

"I know, that's me…the party girl."

"I just _knew_ you were a rebel," Parry grinned.

"I'm guessing they're going to be sticking us in the new PCX series. They have a lower heat draw and more streamlined silhouette than the PCJ's we flew in training. I'm dying to find out."

"Down girl," Parry said, with a fake flutter of her hand over her chest. "I'm getting dizzy from adrenaline already."

Ray chuckled, and Parry smiled. "You know, it's funny," she said.

"What is?" Ray asked.

"Most everyone on the Wing is thinking about making the grade on this new assignment, or flying under the command of a Killdare. You just want to see the ships."

"Just my process, I suppose."

"Yeah. It's interesting, that's all," Parry replied.

"You…wouldn't want to come 'process' with me?" Ray said. Parry lifted her eyebrows, then hid her surprise behind amusement.

"Huh, tempting…I don't know. Pool is _pretty_ riveting."

Ray caught the bait with a smirk. "More riveting than the PCX's tri-fold shielding and flexible pivot shaft?"

"Not nearly! But I _did_ kind of promise Marty-"

"Liquid cooled small-fire array."

"Fuck Marty. Let's go!"


	5. What One Deserves

It wasn't far to get to their assigned flight deck. Pilots in each Wing were kept close to the decks and their fighters, to minimize scramble time in case of an alert. Forcing pilots to run halfway across a platform the size of the _Houston_ just to get to their fighters was as ridiculous and dangerous as it was inefficient.

As they reached the door to the flight deck, Parry felt a faint vibration from the camera in her pocket, indicating the deck's sensors had located the chip and switched it off. That wasn't unusual- fighter tech was one thing the Confed considered protected material at high risk of espionage and dissemination to enemy forces.

Parry had never been aboard a full space-bound flight deck before. It seemed enormous, mostly taken up with the launch area that terminated at a massive reinforced door. Each fighter was contained in its own small hangar flanking each side of the launch that could remain pressurized even when the launch door was open, and could seal independent of the others. During a scramble and launch, the pilots and mechanics would stay to the covered hangars and maintenance walks, allowing fighters to taxi into the bay and launch even while other pilots were still locking aboard.

Of course, they were not at alert now. The fighter hangars were standing open, allowing the mechanics- known in the lingo as 'shock jockeys'- to move around freely as they went about their duties.

The door separating the launch deck from the maintenance area was also open, allowing them to walk right out onto the deck itself.

"There are only ten hangars," Ray noticed right off as they stepped inside. She looked at Parry with some level of surprise. "Our Wing has its own flight deck?"

"You two must be the new Rho pilots," a voice said from nearby. A man in coveralls walked over from a set of armature controls, smiling. "Tech Sergeant Ajay Rhoden, I'm in charge of Rho Wing's shock jockeys. You can call me Rider- we don't use givens on the flight deck, and no one here will refer to you as a given- its bad luck. Callsigns only the moment you walk through that door until you go back out it."

"In that case," Parry said, "I'm Angel. This is Ripley."

"Good to meet you," he said. "So, you two must be the tech geeks of the Wing. Tech geeks are the only ones that show up to look at the planes while everyone else is partying in the rec. Well, good. As you can probably guess, we like tech geeks around here. Why don't I show you the new rides?"

As they followed him over to one of the hangars Ripley asked, "Is it usual for a Wing to get their own flight deck?"

"SFT Wings always get their own flight deck," he said. "Their own deck, and their own crew of shock jocks. That's us. SFTs get the highest edge fighters the Confed has out, which means they need specialized attention, and we're upgrading tech and HUD software constantly. Like other pilots each of you gets your own assigned fighter. Each fighter has three jockeys assigned to that fighter. There's also twelve floaters for off-shift or downtime, and of course me. We do it that way because every fighter has its own quirks. Jocks need to know those quirks inside and out, and that's harder to do when you're spread amongst ten different fighters."

He chuckled a bit as they neared the first hangar, and gestured to the gate post. Spray painted on the post was the name 'Silver Girl."

"We've also got a bit of a sense of humor around here," he said. "Each fighter has its own name, for luck. This one here is _Silver Girl_. Angel, this lovely lady is all yours."

As they neared close enough to see the fighter resting in the hangar, both women's eyes went wide.

"That…is _not_ a PCX series," Angel said in a hushed voice. Ripley let out an audible gasp of excitement.

"That's a _VMX!_"

Rider laughed. "You do know your ships," he said. "Don't forget to breathe now, I can't have a pilot passing out on my deck."

"I thought the VMX's were still in development!" Ripley said, looking at him.

"They were. First Fleet's four STF Wings got upgraded to these beauties two weeks ago. These ones here have been through full stress and safety testing of course but other than that, they're new out of box. Hey, Sunshine! Why don't you brag about your girl here?"

A jockey who was half hidden at the rear of the ship poked her head around and smiled. When she did, it was easy to see how she got her name. Wiping her hands off on a rag she headed around the fighter toward them. "I take it these are Rho's tech geeks."

"Yup. Sunshine, this is Angel and Ripley. Angel, Sunshine is one of your three jocks."

"Oh, thank heaven," Sunshine said, offering her newly cleaned hand toward Angel to shake. "I love a pilot who appreciates the machine. Well, Silver Lady is a lady if ever there was one. She handles smooth as silk for the most part. Can be a bit touchy on the bank in atmo at top speed and may be a little skittish on touchdown, or so the test pilot's report read. You'll want to feather the stick- too firm and she's gonna overmanuever."

"Good to know," Angel said. "I'm not terribly familiar with the VMX series…I can tell by the lines it's still a tourney?"

"Well, come on in, lemme show you the guts," Sunshine grinned again, gesturing the two of them over to the side of the fighter. "Absolutely, the VMX is still Tournament-Class, fully atmo and vacuum ready, instant transition. She's got an upgraded hot point navigation array with real-time 12 side update. She's got an advanced liquid-cooled small fire array and an LC missile short range guidance launch. She's got a far more aggressive stance than the PCXs which allows her to carry a higher compliment of Grizzlies yet she's streamlined so as not to sacrifice weight…"

They slowly rounded the ship, Sunshine rattling off all the new specs that came with the VMX. Angel kept dragging her hand along the flank of the ship, amazed at how smooth the shielding was- it felt almost like glass.

As they reached the rear where Sunshine had been working, they noticed a maintenance hatch was hanging open. Ripley and Angel looked inside as Sunshine explained what she'd been doing with the fuel leads to try and tighten up the draw just a little.

"And that's pretty much it," Sunshine said, then winked as Angel looked at her. "You wanna give the saddle a try?"

"_Absolutely_," Angel replied. Her hands were already itching in that way they got when she really, _really_ wanted to fly.

The cockpit was already standing open. Sunshine gestured toward it, and she and Ripley followed Angel around to the side of the ship, watching as she climbed up. Bracing her hands on either side of the cockpit Angel hefted her legs up, knees bent, and slid into the seat. She settled in as if it had been custom made.

"We can't do a full power up but switch on the HUD, check it out," Sunshine called. As Angel did so, the displays around her lighting up, Ripley climbed up the side and peered within.

"She wasn't kidding about the twelve point nav…look at this thing!" Angel said excitedly. "And it's just brilliant putting the pitch on foot control for atmo flight."

Ripley saw the ammo display and blinked. "Is that right?" she asked, then looked back down at Sunshine. "The small-fire limit?"

"That's absolutely right. Four times as much small-fire as the PCX."

"Good lord, you could carve a johnny in half with that, and put a serious hole in a prime ship."

"That is the idea," Sunshine grinned.

"I want to check out mine," Ripley said, and slid back down the ladder, dropping at Sunshine's side. "Which hangar?"

"You're in six," Sunshine said, and pointed to the first hangar on the far wall, directly opposite Angel's. Ripley vanished across the floor as Angel continued to look over her displays, just running her hands over everything.

She was a born fighter pilot, but never before had she felt so comfortable in a pit before. Everything, from the shape of the seat to the arrangement of the displays, felt tailor made for her particular needs, as if it intuitively sensed how her mind worked and operated. It was, in fact, a little weird.

Knitting her brows, she poked her head over the side and looked down at Sunshine. "If I didn't know better I'd say this fighter was designed for me, specifically."

"It's meant to feel that way," Sunshine told her. "The HUD software for the VMX's is customized to the pilot. They took everything into account-your flight scores, training vids, cockpit monitoring. That information was plugged into the baseline HUD program and the software tailored itself to your specific habits and needs. We then uploaded into Silver Girl and voila. If anything were to happen and you were assigned a replacement VMX, we could upload the same copy into the new fighter and you'd have all your presets. If you need to, we can make adjustments if the HUD and controls aren't quite right-"

"No, they're absolutely perfect. I mean, I won't know for absolute sure until I put her through her paces but…this is a goddamned beautiful machine."

"That she is," Sunshine said.

Angel spent a few more minutes with her new fighter before she reluctantly climbed down, deciding that tomorrow morning couldn't come fast enough. She wanted to _fly_ this beauty.

She spoke with Sunshine a bit more, asking a few more questions about things she'd noticed, before she wandered across the launch to Ripley's hangar.

She couldn't help the smirk when she saw the fighter name painted on the gatepost- Gold Rush.

_Silver and gold_, she thought.

"Ripley, you up there?" she called as she reached the side of the fighter.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Ripley called back from the cockpit. "I never want to leave!"

Angel laughed, climbing up the fighter's side and looking in at her. "I know the feeling. It's pretty amazing isn't it?"

"You think we could talk Rider into getting us clearance for a quick fly around _Houston?_"

She grinned. "If I thought for half a second that'd actually work we'd already be launching," she said. "They're doing final prep to be ready for tomorrow."

"Yeah, damn it. You think they'll let me sleep in here?"

Angel laughed again. "We'll get plenty of flight time tomorrow."

"Spoilsport."

Angel backed down the ladder to allow Ripley to climb out and slide down.

"I'd almost believe these tourneys could blow anything the Cats have out of the water," Angel said as they wandered down the line of hangars, peeking in at the rest of the fighters.

Ripley shook her head. "They're working just as hard to upgrade their ships and fighters as we are. If they weren't, we'd already have won this war. Their Iktha Black fighters would give even these a serious dogfight. Their Pergotas Fleet under _Neinm'ak_ Kirv has _twenty_ IB johnnies."

Angel looked at her. "You know as much about the Cats and their ships as you do about the Confed and ours?"

Ripley shrugged. "Know your enemy," she said. "I'll bet you know just as much about the Kilrathi as I do."

"I didn't know about the compliment of IB fighters in the Pergotas Fleet," she said.

"Minor detail," Ripley said. Leaning against one of the fighter gate posts she folded her arms and looked at Angel. "I'll bet you know plenty more."

"Like what?" Angel asked, folding her own arms as she regarded her.

"Emperor's name."

"The Kilrathi Emperor? _Everyone_ knows that. It's Sarn. I'll bet _you_ know how many kids he has."

"Four," Ripley answered immediately. "I bet _you_ know the heir's name."

"Surc," Angel replied then narrowed her eyes with a grin. "I'll bet that _you_ know the names _and_ titles of the other three."

Ripley hedged warily. "I…don't necessarily know that…"

"You do. I can tell by your face."

"If I said I didn't you'd have no way of knowing if I were lying or not."

"True. So are you saying you _don't_ know their names and titles?"

"Do you?"

"I know Ara Chaz."

"Everyone in the _Confed_ knows Ara Chaz," Ripley teased. "She's the head of the empire's intelligence forces. SOTAC considers her the most dangerous Cat in the known universe."

SOTAC was the Confed's own intelligence network, of which the SFT Wings were technically a part. It stood for Strategic Operational Tactical Alliance of the Confederation.

"And the Confed as a whole considers _Surc_ the most dangerous Cat- he commands the Kilrathi fleets."

"True," Ripley said, her grin mischievous. "So, the other two?"

"Uh uh. I was asking if _you_ knew them first, not the other way around."

"Damn it. Oh, fine. Zuhn is the name of the other son, Sela is the youngest daughter."

"And their titles?"

Ripley rolled her eyes, letting out a surrendering sigh. "Surc is the Heir Apparent, _Akhesh_ of the Kilrathi Fleets. Ara Chaz is Baroness of the Outer Territories, Prime _Notek_ of the Empire's Central Intelligence, and Keeper of Her Father's Word. Sela is Duchess High Court of the Mekhol and Tuve'k territories. Zuhn serves as _Neinm'ak_ in Vetolidesh Fleet under his brother."

Angel grinned. "I knew you knew."

"You're such a smartass."

* * *

An hour later saw them both in a small lounge off one of the docking bays. No one else was there, but it had a grand view port with a ledge large enough to sit on. They perched on it, facing each other with knees drawn up, watching various ships, transports, and freighters moving in and out of the bay below.

Their conversation had wandered to a variety of different subjects over the last hour, seeming to meander with little purpose, but neither had made any attempt to part ways. Honestly, Parry had no desire to. Sitting there, talking with Ray and watching the ships…she'd take that over hanging out in the rec room playing pool any day.

Then, in the midst of a lull, she noticed a ship coming in to dock. Her eyes widened as she realized it was another VMX tourney, and pointed. "Ray, look-"

Ray seemed to have noticed it at the same moment, and was reacting with the same intent-to point it out to Parry. Their hands bumped fairly hard and instantly Ray felt her face go red as she drew hers back. "Sorry!"

"Sorry!" Ray said at the same moment, then turned red herself. The moment was so awkward, in fact, that Parry suddenly couldn't help laughing as she rubbed at her hand. Ray blinked at her, then started laughing herself.

"We're a coordinated couple of pilots, aren't we?" she said.

"You can say that again," Parry grinned, then cleared her throat. "Uh…so, yeah. That was another VMX."

"Yeah. Could be taking one of Rho out for a test flight. Might be one of Alpha Wing." She shrugged, leaning her forehead on the glass as she looked outward. "Bastille did say they'd be overseeing our training."

"Yeah," Parry said. After a moment, she realized she was staring at Ray again, and looked out of the glass as well. A long silence followed. As it started to get weighty, Parry half glanced over. Ray was still watching the ships, but her eyes seemed slightly unfocused, and troubled.

_Great. Did I make an ass out of myself? Did I make her angry?_

"…you ok?" Parry asked.

"Parry…I need to know if I can tell you something," Ray said, and then looked at her. "Something I don't want the others knowing. I know we haven't known each other very long but…I get the feeling that I can trust you. I need to know if I can."

"Yeah, sure," Parry said, shifting a little to more fully face her.

"I need to be absolutely sure," Ray said. "I've only told one person before. Karen- the girl from my flight class? I thought I could trust her too. Instead, she reported me to Colonel Wright, and when that didn't work she tried as hard as she could to get me to wash out by turning the entire class against me."

Parry was silent a moment. She couldn't imagine what Ray could have told anyone to get that kind of a reaction.

_Reported her to Colonel Wright? What could she possibly have done to warrant getting reported?_

"You're afraid I'm going to do the same thing?" Parry asked, then nodded. "I can understand that, but I would never-"

"Never?" Ray asked. Parry shook her head.

"No, you're right. There are things that I _would_ report. If you were at risk of putting yourself or someone else in danger, of compromising the Confed somehow, or had done some…some serious crime, then yes…I would report you. But if it were any of those things, you wouldn't be here. You already said Karen told Colonel Wright. He would have had you arrested or thrown you out of training or something. He didn't, so that tells me it's not anything that I will feel obligated to report myself."

Ray nodded. "True…"

Parry studied her. "Ray, you can trust me," she said. "I won't tell anyone anything that you say. I swear it. We're in the same Wing. We have to trust each other, right?"

"That goes for the rest of the Wing too," Ray pointed out. "You have to trust them, too, and they have to trust us."

"This isn't something you can tell all of them?"

"No. Not…not yet. Not right now. I can't…"

"But you can tell me."

Ray shrugged weakly. "I don't know I just…I've kept it to myself for so long. It's like a shameful little cloud constantly over my head, you know? I want to pretend it doesn't exist but it's always there. It never lets me forget it. I felt isolated by it. When I got into Yelchin, I knew my class had to trust me. I thought I could trust them. I finally got up the nerve to tell Karen and she just…the look on her face. The hatred and…and it led to two years of hell. I don't want that here. I want to be able to trust someone with this, and ever since I met you I just felt like I could, you know? I felt…oh _God how ridiculous am I?"_

She covered her face, bending forward until the backs of her hands were on her knees. Parry, a bit alarmed, reached over and took hold of her arm. "Ray, hey…you're not ridiculous."

"I _am_," came the muffled reply. "Goddamn it I didn't even do anything wrong! This shouldn't be so goddamn hard!"

"Ray," Parry said again, shifting a bit and taking hold of her other arm as well, giving her a gentle shake. "Listen to me. Ok?"

Ray's eyes peeked up over her hands, her voice still muffled in her palms. "Ok."

"I swear to you, whatever you tell me, I'm not going to tell a single soul. Not even Rafe. You can trust me."

Ray met her eyes a moment, before she slowly nodded. Lowering her hands she sat back a little, looking at her. "I believe you," she said.

She looked back out the window. Parry sat back a little, watching her in silence again, not speaking or pressing, while still wracking her brain trying to figure out what the woman would be so afraid of sharing.

Then, without looking at her, Ray said, "When I said my family vanished on the _Tundra_, I lied."

Parry nodded. "You did seem a bit neutral when you said it," she said. "Like you were talking about the weather or something."

"I've never been a terrific actress," Ray said, then looked at her hands. "I don't really remember my mother. I was about four when she died, I think. The only memory I have of her is of her lying in a big white bed, surrounded by machines and tubes."

"Hospital?" Parry asked softly.

"I don't think so. I think it was our home but…as I said, I don't really remember. There was just her wasted face against the pillows…gray and still. Men were standing around, some of them in Confed uniforms. They took me away from there. I grew up in a series of foster homes."

So far, nothing she'd said would have justified her being so reluctant to talk about it. It was sad, but hardly 'report it to your Colonel and then ostracize you' worthy.

"Your Dad was already gone?" Parry asked when Ray went silent again.

Ray's expression suddenly tightened a little. "He died when I was fourteen," she said. "I wasn't born with the name Caruso. When my mother died the Confed gave me a new identity, because of him."

Her whole body tensed, slightly but noticeably. She pointedly didn't look at Parry. "I was born with the last name of Ckinlin."

It took a moment or two for the name to sink in, but when it did Parry felt like she'd been hit in the chest.

_Ckinlin…oh…_fuck.

Almost since the war with the Kilrathi had begun, the Confed had been dealing with a highly elusive group of traitors and spies known only as the Mandarin Order. Some had infiltrated directly into the Confed's ranks. Others were responsible for various terror actions across Earth and the colonies.

About twenty years before, the Mandarins had taken credit for the detonation of a bioweapon in the colony of Rikers, a civilian supply depot that was a key part of the supply line to the Fourth Fleet at Jackson Front. The bioweapon had killed more than three hundred thousand colonists and severely disrupted the supply lines feeding what was, at the time, the second largest front in the war.

The bioweapon was traced to a secret Kilrathi base in the Territories. The Cats had manufactured the weapon and had provided it to the Mandarins to smuggle into Confed territory and weaken the stances of the military at the various fronts.

The biobase in the Territories was pinpointed by SOTAC, and Alpha Wing was sent in to take it out. The Cats sent in their own IB johnnies to protect the base and in the melee, Merlin was shot down onto the moon where the base was located. While his Wing was getting pummeled, Killdare humped it across two miles of open ground, broke into the base, and managed to set their power generators into overload. He barely escaped again before the generators blew and erased the base from existence, but he brought with him vital research data he'd snagged that allowed the Confed to develop a vaccine and countermeasures, rendering any other such weapons that had already been smuggled into the Confed useless.

Killdare taking out that biobase was half the reason he was such a legend.

SOTAC went to work rooting out those Mandarins responsible for Rikers. Two fairly low down the totem pole were captured and after some 'questioning' and bargaining, they gave up the name of the man in charge of the whole mess.

Armin Ckinlin.

He'd finally been caught by a SOTAC black ops team about eleven years ago, and evidence was found that linked him to no fewer than twelve prior Mandarin terror attacks on Earth itself. The Confed made a very big deal about his capture, trial, and sentencing- he was message they wanted to send about the price of terrorism and treachery in the Confed.

Ten years ago, he was publically executed.

Armin Ckinlin was one of the most hated names in recent human history. He was not only a murderer but a traitor to Earth, the Confed, and his entire species.

_When she was taken away at four years old, that would have been when the attack happened, when his name was first associated with it_, Parry thought numbly. _She was fourteen when they executed him._

"You're Armin Ckinlin's daughter," she heard herself say, her breath barely a whisper. She winced internally when Ray shrank back a little, her already folded arms tightening defensively. She looked like someone waiting to be hit.

"Yes," she said in a tiny voice.

It all made sense now. Though Ray had absolutely nothing to do with her father's actions, being only a child at the time, just her name would send people hunting for her head. She'd had to grow up knowing who her father was, forced to bear the shame of what he'd done, even if the Confed did change her name to protect her from outside hostilities.

_Then she finally confides in someone because she can't stand being alone with the secret any more, and what does that person do? Rats her out to a commanding officer, and when that didn't work-because already knew, having access to her confidential Confed personnel records-turns the rest of the team against her, socially tearing her apart over crimes she had nothing to do with._

Parry looked at Ray, then reached out and gently rested her hands on the other woman's bent knees, looking at her seriously.

"You're Armin Ckinlin's _daughter_," she said again, not looking away. "You are _not_ Armin Ckinlin. You are Ripley, a Confed SFT fighter pilot, and you _deserve_ to be here."

Ray seemed to deflate slightly, before her face suddenly crumpled. Wordlessly she leaned forward, and hugged Parry tightly.


	6. Time to Dance

A/N: For those of you in the States, Happy Fourth of July! For those not in the States, have a wonderful weekend!

* * *

An 0430 muster on the flight deck was early, but Parry didn't mind. It wasn't much different than muster time at Yelchin, and she'd barely slept anyway.

Lying in her bunk most of the night, her mind kept spinning. She kept jumping from excited to be flying the new fighter to what Ray had confessed. She more than understood the other girl's reluctance to tell the rest of the Wing. Their reaction could be anything from wary but accepting, to outright hostile.

_Reaper might be even more touchy about it, considering his Dad nearly died taking out the biobase that had supplied Ckinlin to begin with._

Bastille had to already know. Her clearance was such that even the most highly confidential portion of a pilot's sealed records would be easily accessed. It was even possible that Jondell already knew, though Bastille may not have told him.

_Nemesis knows and wanted her here anyway_, Parry thought. _Ray's gotta be aware of that, and if she's not, I'll remind her again. She deserves to be here. Even Bastille knows that. What her father did is not on her head._

Parry was up before her alarm. Though by rights she should be exhausted she was instead charged with energy, all but twitching to get in that tourney again. She did a quick few sets of pushups on her bunk floor, hardly able to stop smiling…and the smile wasn't all because of her new fighter.

_She trusted me enough to tell me. _

A quick shower, then she pulled on her flight suit, grabbed her helmet, and headed down to the deck.

The flight suit itself was a marvel of engineering. Made of a flexible yet extremely tough material, it was bullet-resistant, cold-resistant, flame-resistant. It had its own comm unit threaded through it, as well as a small emergency oxygen pack. In case of emergency eject and a failure of the fighter's rescue capsule, the flight suit alone would allow a pilot to survive floating in space for nearly an hour, maintaining working communications and positional beacon.

As she left her room a voice called to her from a few doors down. She glanced back to see Rafe, decked out as well, heading her way.

"Good morning princess," he said as he fell in step with her, then glanced back at her bunk door. She gave him a look.

"What are you doing?"

"Just making sure that no one else is coming out of your room."

"Good fuck, Rafe."

"Was it? Details!"

She reached out and punched him in the shoulder. The blow was hard but she knew it would hardly hurt him, not with his flight suit on and his normal padding of muscle the size of her head.

"You're such an ass!" she said.

"What? I just made a logical conclusion. You disappeared all afternoon and evening, and by a _remarkable_ coincidence, so did Ray."

"We went to the flight deck to check out the new fighters, that's all."

"_All_ afternoon?"

"Trust me, when you see them, you'll understand," she said, glossing over that they had also spent several hours in the lounge just talking.

"So you slept alone."

"So did you, as usual."

"You don't know that," he said. She gave him a look, and he huffed.

"Fine, you _do_ know that. Did you at least-"

"Good morning!" Marty appeared from his door, falling in to join them. "Parry, we missed you last night. You should have seen it- Jason totally wiped Rafe's ass on the pool table. I'm surprised the big boy didn't start crying."

Rafe reached out, putting a hand on Marty's head, and started to push downward. "Should I see how long it takes you to cry, you little fuck?"

"Hey, let up! I'm short enough already!"

Rafe let up, then gave Marty a firm buffet to the shoulder, nearly knocking the smaller pilot onto the ground.

"Hey guys, keep it in the cockpit, ok?" Parry said. Rafe looked at her.

"What? Marty and I were just fucking around, ain't that right buddy?"

He hooked an arm around Marty's neck and squeezed.

"Yes, absolutely right," Marty said in a wheezing, thin voice. "We love each other. Picking out china patterns and everything."

That made Rafe bark a laugh, and he let him go.

Jondell was waiting for them as they stepped onto the flight deck. The maintenance areas and hangars had been sealed off from the launch deck but the maintenance area was large enough for them all to gather. Jason was the last one in the door but everyone was on sight several minutes before the 0430 call. Parry glanced over when Ray came in, giving her a smile of excitement. Ray grinned back.

"Good to see everyone's eager to get started," Jondell said, then called them to attention. Rider was lingering behind him, and when he met Parry's eyes he gave a wink.

"Good morning," Jondell said. "This is Rho Wing's flight deck, and only Rho Wing hangars here. From the moment we step through that door we are one entity. We fly, fight, and if necessary, die together. Given names are not allowed on this deck, and they are not allowed in the fighters. You will abandon your given name the moment you walk through those doors until the moment you walk back out of them. Anyone who speaks a given on this deck will get two weeks EMI automatically. If you use a given name in the cockpit it will be two _months_. Am I clear?"

They shouted as one. "Sir, yes, sir!"

"Good. This morning is going to be dedicated to flight exercises to familiarize yourself with the new fighters," Jondell said. "Each of you is assigned your own fighter and a three person crew of shock jockeys. These are cutting edge Tournament-Class VMX fighters…"

He started to rattle off the specs that Parry and Ray had already learned the day before, explaining about the intuitive HUD, the increased small-fire rate, the 12 point nav system. He went through it as if it were old hat.

"The first part of today's exercises will be simple flight techniques to stretch your legs," he continued. "Once you've gotten a feel for them we will move on to non-live target patterns. I repeat, _non-live_. Your tourneys are not loaded with live rounds or grizzlies for today's exercises. If by chance there is a scramble on the front and the fleet goes Code Red while we are in the training area, you will immediately return to the flight deck. Am I clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"As you are now designated special forces you will go through additional training not covered by the usual pilot program. This training will deal with advanced hand-to-hand, demolitions, survival, intelligence, mechanics, and various arms fire. We will start on this training this afternoon after mess."

He looked at them sternly, his blue eyes like ice. "Part of the flight exercises are to give me a chance to see who to assign as wingmen. No pilot flies solo in this Wing and I will accept no hot-dogging or lone wolf shenanigans. We succeed or fail as a unit. Your wingman is your partner. You fly with your partner, you protect your partner, and if your partner is going down you had better goddamn be going down too!"

"_Ahroo!"_

"I will be assigning wingmen based on skill, style, and how you work together. For today, you will be alternating wingmen as ordered so I can get a feel for how each of you works together. To start we'll make it simple. I've assigned you starting wingmen based on training academy. That means Tinkerbell, you're with Siren. Rabbit, you're with Hobby. Angel, you're with Hammer. Pagan, you're with Gameshow. Ripley, you're with me. Hangar assignments are as follows- Angel you are in one. Hammer you are in two. Tinkerbell, you are in three. Siren, you are in four. Hobby, you are in five."

He pointed toward the right as he said this, then shifted to the left. "Ripley, you are in six, Rabbit, you are in seven, Pagan, you are in eight, Gameshow, you are in nine, and I am in ten. Report to your hangars and lock in. We are clear for launch in five and the assembly nav point is already in your system. Full formation. Go."

The group parted, half heading right and half heading left through the sealed maintenance hangar access. Ray and Parry exchanged brief looks, Ray giving Parry a thumbs up before they headed in opposite directions.

Silver Girl was already in pre-flight when Parry reached her, Sunshine and two others efficiently clearing over the checks. Sunshine met her at the ladder and took her helmet, allowing Parry to climb up and slide back into the cockpit. As she hit the switches to power up her HUD and various displays, Sunshine climbed up after her. Passing Parry her helmet she helped her lock it down then plugged the back of her flight suit into the fighter's oxygen feeds as Parry linked in to the ship's direct comm system. Sunshine then helped her lower and fasten the harness.

Parry had worked with jocks before that were slow or just had a different order or method on how to lock in. Sunshine was fast and efficient, and in less than thirty seconds from hitting the ladder, Parry was half green.

Harness fastened, Sunshine pulled back, unlatched the ladder, and pulled it back from the ship without bothering to slide down with a quick haul of her body weight on the railing, clearing the vessel. As she did, Parry closed the hatch and switched the engines from pre-flight into high idle. The hatch locked down, pressurizing. Parry's board went full green, and she tossed a thumbs up to Sunshine, who returned it. The other two jockeys had finished their external pre-flight and had unlocked Silver Girl's landing gear from the deck clamps. Sunshine dropped down from the ladder after securing it, gave a quick glance around the hangar to make sure no tools were left unlocked or no feedline had been left attached to the fighter, then stepped out with the others, smacking her palm on the panel beside the door. The door slid down, the hangar sealing itself from the rest of the area and depressurizing.

_{Silver Girl is ready for launch,}_ Sunshine said, her voice filling Angel's ears as the door in front of the fighter sank into the floor, clearing her way to the flight deck. _{Hangar one is live._}

"Confirm," Angel replied. "My board is green, all checks are go."

_{Acknowledged,}_ A new voice replied. This would be flight control, working on the higher decks of Houston, near the command center. _{Hangar open- Angel, you are clear for taxi.}_

She hadn't heard anyone else clear yet, which meant she'd be the first. Besides Ripley, the others were probably delaying things a bit by cooing over their new fighters.

_Hell, Ripley may be too_, she thought, remembering the adoration and excitement on Ray's face as they had looked over the fighters the day before. Angel had gotten her hands-on geek satisfied yesterday. Now, she just wanted to get this baby in the stars.

She maneuvered the fighter out of the hangar, getting a feel for how the taxi controls responded. As she got carefully into launch position she saw the lights around two more hangars go green as their doors started to descend. Unsurprisingly, one was Ripley. She taxied Gold Rush out of her hangar and smoothly into position. Angel looked over at her and they gave each other another excited thumbs up.

_{Rho Wing this is Flight Control,}_ the voice returned. _{We have a green light to launch in five...four…}_

Parry could feel her heart thundering in her ears. With a flip of her fingers she switched Silver Girl from high idle to full engines, feeling the power instantly vibrating through the ship in an eager growl. Silver Girl seemed to be chomping at the bit, raring to flex her muscles. Parry's hand gripped the choke, a grin spreading over her face.

_{…three…two…one. Launch.}_

Almost as one, Silver Girl and Gold Rush leapt forward at full throttle, roaring across the deck toward the open launch door and the stars beyond. Parry heard someone whoop in her headset and was pretty sure it was herself. The rush of adrenaline filled her, lighting up every nerve.

As they passed out of the bay and into space, Parry and Ray broke away from each other. As if by design, they both did a quick barrel roll, and Parry whooped again.

_{Look at you two goddamn showoffs,}_ Rafe said.

"Just getting a feel for the girl," Parry replied. On her display, she saw the others launching behind her. Someone spun past her, flipping roll after roll.

_{Holy shit is this thing smooth!}_ Hobby said as he steadied his fighter.

"You keep rolling like that the jocks will be hosing out your pit," Parry laughed.

_{Not me, I got a stomach like iron, and it's not like we're in atmo.}_

Parry somehow doubted that. Marty struck her as the kind of guy who had probably chucked in his pit at least once.

_Hell, who hasn't_, she thought. _First time doing high g in simulation or in actual atmo and _everyone _goddamn chucks._

_{Rho Wing you are clear of _Houston,} the flight controller said. _{Proceed along marked course to training area.}_

Parry checked her nav point and guided the fighter toward the rendezvous. Along the way, she gave it an experimental waggle of the wings, getting a feel for how sensitive the stick was.

_Sunshine wasn't kidding. You gotta feather it._ She grinned. Given enough time, she could probably make this fighter dance the ballet- a vast improvement over the training scrags where every maneuver meant wrestling the stick until your arms ached.

She reached the nav point at the edge of the training area and held position, waiting for everyone else to catch up, the group immediately sliding into Wing formation.

_{Not bad, Angel,}_ Reaper said. _{You locked in faster than the rest of the Wing.}_

"Thank you, but I had a bit of an advantage. Ripley and I went down to the flight deck yesterday and already saw the new fighters."

_{Smart to do. Now let's see how well you handle that bird. You and Hammer are first up on maneuvers. Sending you the nav points now…}_

* * *

It was nearing chow time and Angel truly felt like her callsign-this was definitely her idea of heaven. She and Rafe worked well together, as they always did. Watching the others during maneuvers helped give her a feel of their styles and she was honestly awestruck at what she saw. Every damned one of them was an amazing pilot, moving the fighters as if they were fish in the sea, extensions of their own bodies.

Still, separate styles quickly became apparent, especially once they started in on the non-live targets. Siren was graceful but almost languid, flying as if on a Sunday stroll, almost ignoring the targets until she picked them off without seeming effort. Tinkerbell was more playful, changing direction quickly, dancing through the 'fire' sent in her direction like a kid skipping through flowers.

Hammer, of course, was Hammer- charging in like a bull and blasting them away as if they had insulted his mother.

Reaper was good. As she watched him fly she knew without a doubt that any thought this was a token Wing meant to just pander his ego was a farce. He was fast, precise, moved like a shark and was probably the most efficient flyer she had ever seen. Nothing was wasted. Every twitch on the stick had an instantly apparent purpose.

She'd flown with each of them by the time things were winding down, save Ripley. So far, she thought she meshed best with Hammer and Rabbit- Hammer's gung-ho charges allowed her to sweep in from the sidelines and pick off the dazed leftovers, and Rabbit's more cautious reserve pandered to her personal strengths of measured and surgical strikes.

_{All right, good work,}_ Reaper said as Rabbit and Siren finished a sweep. _{Last run. Angel and Ripley, you two are up.}_

Angel grinned as she headed to the navpoint, Ripley moving in smoothly to her starboard. The distant target generator at the edge of training space burped out six targets at Reaper's request. The targets fired non-live weapons, hits being registered by the tourney's training programs. When one of the targets was hit by the tourney's own non-live rounds, they registered as destroyed and returned to the generator. They were designed to give ship and shield signals as if they were actual johnnies, having comparable maneuverability to the most common Kilrathi fighters. They were also programmed to learn, adjust themselves to a particular pilot's skills, on top of basic programmed responses and patterns.

"All right, Ripley, what do you think?" Angel asked.

_{Six targets…given the dispersal pattern, how about a five three lock?}_

Angel blinked. A five three lock was an old trick that worked exactly once on the training targets in the academy. It was a simple attack and so common that these targets would have been preprogrammed to avoid it before they even launched.

"You think that'll work?"

_{Simple and common means assumptions are made,}_ Ripley said. _{They may_ not _be programmed with it just because everyone assumes they'll be programmed with it. Even Cats fall for old tricks no one uses anymore, because no one uses them anymore.}_

"And if you're wrong?"

_{If I'm wrong we'll be on the drive by. What do you think?}_

Parry ran it through her mind quickly, then nodded. "Five three lock, if a no go or not full clear then I sweep 320 on the drive by."

_{I love the way you think.}_

Parry grinned. "Heading to approach."

They got close enough the targets picked them up and pulled into formation, picking up speed as they headed toward them. Parry shifted her grip on the stick, watching her scope.

"We are at five one…" she said. "You ready?"

_{Set.}_

"Five two. Five three, _weapons' lock!"_

At 'five two' Ray suddenly turned, her port wing dipping and her engines turning to starboard to slide her ship 'under' Parry's position. As she did, Parry's board went red as the targets locked on their weapons. Instantly, she pitched sharply upward. The targets, already locked on, immediately followed her, allowing Ripley to cant in behind them, full throttle. Her weapons lit up, five of the six targets being hit from behind and 'destroyed'.

Moving faster than Parry at this point, Ray missed the final target and was instantly passing Parry- the 'drive by'.

_Time to see how well you can dance_, Parry thought, and hauled Silver Girl into a three hundred and twenty degree turn at full speed, breaking away from her course and looping back toward the target's path.

The target was programmed to assess hostilities in combat. A ship that fired on a target presented a greater hostility than one that had not. Faced with the sudden appearance of a more hostile target on its scope as Ray passed in front of it, with its other target now appearing to pull off and therefore reduce hostility, the drone released its weapon lock on Angel and shifted it to Ripley.

Parry's near complete loop put the target's path in the sight of her weapons. Just as it was about to take Ray out from behind, she came in hot from the side and hit it, sweeping past an instant later.

The final target went dark.

"Whoo!" Parry laughed, looking back as if she could see the dark target slumping away in defeat behind her.

_{Ha! Nice shot Angel! You were right about the 320 on drive-by.}_ Ripley replied.

"I just can't believe the targets weren't programmed to avoid five thirty lock. Brilliant!"

_{Good job, pilots,}_ Reaper said. _{Bring it back to formation.}_

The two brought their ships back into line, rejoining the others in formation. Parry couldn't stop grinning.

_{All right, our time's nearly up for the training area,}_ Reaper said. _{How's everyone feeling?}_

"Sir, I could fly this ship all goddamn day," Parry replied. Several of the others concurred.

_{Good to hear, but we have other training to get too. You pilots did well. It's clear why your various academies recommended-}_

_{Rho Wing this is Alpha WC Merlin, respond.}_

Parry blinked in shock as the voice broke in over the comm. She imagined she could feel Reaper's surprise too, in the infinitesimal hesitation before he answered.

_{Alpha WC, this is Rho WC Reaper, acknowledging. What is it, Merlin?}_

_{My Wing will be on your scope in three,}_ Merlin replied. _{Flight control tells me your slot for training space is nearly clear but we were wondering if you're up for some RvB.}_

Now Parry's jaw did drop. RvB was short for 'red vs. blue', and it was exactly what it sounded like. Alpha Wing, the highest ranking SFT Wing in the entirety of the Confed was nearly to their training space, and had literally just challenged their WC to a non-live fire dogfight- the fighter equivalent of a skins versus shirts basketball pickup game.

Another short pause, then Reaper replied, _{Stand-by Merlin.}_

He switched over to the private line and addressed them. _{Wing, what do you think?}_

_{Did…did the fucking Alpha Wing just offer to wipe the ground with us in RvB?_} Marty asked. _{Did I really just hear that?}_

_{That's affirmative,}_ Reaper said calmly.

_{You _know_ we're going to lose, right?}_ Rabbit said.

_{Ain't about losing,}_ Hammer said. _{Fuck guys, seriously? This is a chance to dogfight with fucking _Alpha Wing_. Jesus Christ, if you got a chance to play baseball with the Mets, even in a pickup game, would you take it or not?}_

_{The Mets, no,}_ Hank joked. _{Now the_ Giants _on the other hand-}_

_{This is a chance to show them what we've got,}_ Ripley said suddenly. _{Show them…that we_ deserve _to be here. Doesn't matter if we lose. I say we go for it.}_

_{Same,}_ Angel replied.

_{Fuck yeah. Same,}_ Rafe said. The others echoed the sentiment.

_{All right, then let's show them what we're made of,}_ Reaper said, then opened the line again. _{WC Merlin, this is WC Reaper. That is a go on RvB.}_

Ten red blips appeared on Parry's scope as Alpha Wing crossed into training space. The light across the edge of her own board turned blue, indicating sides had been designated.

_Good God, what did we get ourselves into_? she thought.

_{Rho Wing, this is Merlin,}_ came the reply. _{Affirmative. We are a go.}_


	7. Best Day Ever

_{Last wingmen designations stick,}_ Reaper said as they moved into position, the oncoming Alpha Wing steadily growing closer. _{Open with a two four seven and then free go.}_

_{Been nice knowing you guys,}_ Gameshow said, then dropped into a voice that sounded like an old Southern preacher. {_First Book of Craptacular, chapter nine, verse 3. 'And lo I did look upon the approaching horsemen, and lo I did shit myself verily, amen.}_

_{Amen brother!}_ Hobby replied.

Last wingmen designations meant that Ripley was with Angel. Parry resisted the urge to glance over at the ship on her starboard. This would be nothing like fighting those targets, but even so…

_What the hell. Might as well._

"Ripley, let's go old school."

_{They would have been close enough to monitor our last target set,}_ Ripley replied.

"Even more reason for them to think we won't pull it. We're free go after the two four seven. If by any stroke of luck we get the flank I say we do it."

"Hell sister, I'd die with you any day. Ahroo."

_{I like the way you guys think,}_ Reaper said suddenly. _{Wing, scrap two four seven. I want a full set five three lock with a three twenty on the drive by.}_

"Fuck, seriously?" Angel laughed, astonished.

_{A good idea is a good idea. They may expect one but anticipating a full Wing pulling the same stunt at the same time? If we survive we're free go. If not, it's chow time.}_

_{I could use some chow,}_ Hammer said almost meditatively.

_{We're on. Four seconds to weapons range,}_ Reaper said. _{We are at five one…five two…}_

It had to have been quite a sight to see- an entire Wing pulling a sudden five three lock simultaneously. Of course, Parry would never know- one could hardly appreciate the beauty of a full Wing maneuver when you were in one of that Wing's pits.

Beautiful or not, for a split damn second, Parry actually thought it might work. It was a foolish thought, of course. They had never really stood a chance.

Almost instantly her board was flashing, signaling each ship in Rho that was 'hit' and out of the fight.

_{Ahm dead! Ahm dead aw lawdy!}_ Gameshow wailed with amusement, but she barely heard him. She just managed to slip past a shot headed her way, narrowly avoiding a collision with one of the Alpha tourneys that had smoothly dodged the drive-by. It seemed she was suddenly in a hurricane of swarming ships.

Three more team members went dark. As she tried to clear out of the melee for open space she risked a glance at her board.

Only three of their Wing was left, everyone else had already been tagged. Less than three seconds had passed since they'd started the maneuver.

It was her, Ripley, and Reaper left. Ripley was the furthest from them, and from the glance Angel had taken, she had no fewer than three of Alpha on her six. She was weaving, dodging their shots but only by millimeters. Angel had no real hope to help her but she adjusted course anyway, only to discover she had two on her own ass.

Reflexively, she rolled, then cut a sharp ninety. As she did, she registered a set of shots just barely passing her shielding.

Then, Ripley was out. Angel grit her teeth. RvB or not, Ripley was her wingman for this exercise, and she'd left her wide open. If this had been a real fight, and these were real johnnies, Ripley would now be dead and it would be entirely Angel's fault.

Knowing she herself probably had only milliseconds to 'live' she shook her head once. Reaper was still out there. They won or lost as a Wing.

_Fuck these guys, anyway. Time to make Silver Girl dance._

She swung her engine hard port, feigning like she was running for open space again before she spun back the other way, letting out an almost desperate spray of shot. The two on her ass moved almost as if they read her mind, but something flashed past her screen. One of the three that had taken down Ripley had come her way, apparently to help finish her off. Angel gaped in shock as her screens suddenly registered a point, the Alpha Wing fighter dropping out of the game.

_I fucking killed one?_

Even as the thought registered her blue board went to flashing red. She was down and out, and according to her readouts, so was Reaper. They had-quite unsurprisingly-lost.

The game had only lasted fifteen seconds.

_{Holy shit princess!}_ Hammer's voice suddenly bellowed in her ear, followed quickly by the voices of the rest of the Wing.

_{I don't believe it! I don't fucking believe it! You beautiful angel you!}_ Pagan hooted.

_{If I had not seen it…how the hell did you do that?}_ Siren asked, baffled.

Angel felt her cheeks heat and let out a laugh that was just as astonished as she felt.

_{WC Merlin to WC Reaper…good game.}_

Reaper's voice sounded steady but something about it made Angel wonder. _{WC Merlin, much appreciated.}_

_{Copy that. We'll see you on deck. Merlin out.}_

_{Rho Wing, this is Flight Control. Your clearance window is closed, bring it home.}_

_{Copy that, Flight Control. Rho Wing entering pattern.}_

Angel brought her fighter around and entered formation with the rest of Rho. She could hear the others still exclaiming in her ears but it melted into white noise.

_I got one of them. Holy fucking cow. I shot down one of Alpha Wing!_

It was a purely lucky shot, and she knew it. The whole thing had been a mess from the get-go, as it should be when a veteran SFT Wing took on a new Wing freshly MR'd. Even so, in chaos like that, it wasn't unreasonable to expect that one of them would hit one of Alpha just by pure frantic happenstance…and that's what had happened.

It was just luck. Just chance. Yet part of her head wouldn't stop cheering along with the others.

_Chance or not, I shot down one of Alpha fucking Wing!_

The rest of her head was stuck on the less positive aspect of what had happened. It didn't matter that it hadn't been a 'real' fight. Her wingman had gone down, because of her.

They reached _Houston_. It wasn't until Angel was settling Silver Girl back into her hangar that her thoughts broke enough to realize what Merlin had said over comm.

_We'll see you on deck._

Was Alpha Wing going to dock with _Houston_ instead of returning to the _Londontown?_

_It makes sense, they are supposed to oversee our training. I wonder if it'll be the whole Wing or just Merlin?_

As her hangar closed and pressurized, she powered down the fighter's engines and went through her post-flight check quickly. Sunshine was waiting as she finally cracked the hatch, helping her to remove her helmet and unlock her from the cockpit.

"How'd she do?" she asked as she got Parry's helmet free.

"She handles beautifully," Angel told her. "Not a single complaint. Everything was five-by."

"Good to hear it!" Dim voices raised outside and Sunshine turned her head. "From the sound of their whooping it must have been quite a morning."

"We RvB'd Alpha," she said, climbing out of the pit as Sunshine backed down the ladder.

"Alpha? Well now! That _is_ something. You kick their asses?"

Parry laughed, dropping to deck. "No, hardly, we-"

"Your name should be goddamn _Goddess!"_

Rafe's bellow filled the hangar as he, Hobby, and Siren strode in. He didn't pause at the door, but swept his arms around her and lifted her right off the ground. "You beautiful fucking princess you!"

"Hammer! Jesus!" She half laughed, half gasped as she tried to breathe around the bear hug.

"You took down one of Alpha! _Fucking Alpha!_" Hobby said. "God, I'm getting teary again just thinking about it!"

Rafe set her back on her feet, gripping her shoulders. "Do you know who you shot down?"

"If you say Merlin I think I'm going to puke," she said weakly.

"If you'd shot down Merlin I do believe Hammer would dip you in gold," Siren said. "You took out Shadow."

"Shadow?" She blinked, hand over her stomach. "I…think I might vomit anyway."

"The spew of celebration!" Hobby said enthusiastically. Angel gave him an irritated look.

They went out into the maintenance walk, the others joining them in the hub, just as enthusiastic, excitedly talking over what had happened. Reaper was quieter, and offered her his hand. As she took it he nodded.

"You're a hell of a pilot, Angel."

"I just got lucky, sir," she said. "It was a one in a million shot."

"I'm not talking about the game," he said. "Everything your Colonel at Yelchin said about you is true."

"I'm not entirely sure what he said about me," she replied warily.

He smiled slightly. "I'll be happy to tell you later. Right now, this Wing needs some chow, and we have a long afternoon ahead still."

He clapped her on the shoulder then lifted his voice to the others. "Wing, chow time. You will report to section four, room A, at 1100 exactly. PT gear. Dismissed."

As the group started out the door, still laughing and talking, Angel looked around and then paused with a blink. Reaching out, she caught Rafe's arm as he headed past her.

"What?"

"Where's Ripley?"

"I thought she was here," he said, looking around. "She's quiet as a fucking mouse half the time. All hangars are green, so she obviously landed."

Heading across the maintenance room she entered the corridor for the other set of hangars, Hammer on her heels. Glancing in the first hangar, she saw Ripley standing by the ladder next to Gold Rush, her jockeys busy going through post-flight.

She wasn't looking at the ship- or for that matter, anything in particular. She had her hand on her forehead, her gaze downward and unfocused on some random spot on the floor. Immediately concerned, Parry headed for her.

"Ripley?" she said softly as she got to her side. "You ok?"

Behind her, Hammer looked at the pair silently from the door, but did not enter.

"What?" Ripley looked at her, blinking and lowering her head. Then she shook it. "No, not really. I'm…Angel, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"I flubbed that drive by and the next thing I knew, we were on opposite ends of the field. Intentionally or not, I left my wingman alone out there."

Parry stared at her. "Ripley, no…I've been beating myself up for the same thing. You got taken down because I was too far away. If that fight had been real-"

"Both of you knock it off," Hammer said, not unkindly. "It was a fucking mess out there. You got separated, it happens. Neither of you abandoned your wingman. You're good fucking pilots, ok? We had a lot of handicaps out there. We were in new fighters we're still getting used to, flying with new pilots we haven't felt out much yet, and we were going up against literally the top rated, most veteran SFT Wing in the goddamn Confed."

"Yeah," Ripley said quietly, then smirked at Angel. "And you took out Shadow."

"So I've been told," she said, with a bashful grin. "It was total luck-"

"Then from now on before I get in the pit, I'm rubbing your head for luck," Hammer said, striding forward and scrubbing his knuckles hard over her head.

"Ow! Stop it you big fuck!" she said.

He grinned, lowering his hand. "Come on, both of you. Pull up your fucking panties. You both did good. Now let's get some chow before I have to plant my boot up your asses."

He turned and walked out, leaving them to follow him. As they did, Angel glanced over at Ripley.

"Really, it wasn't your fault."

Ripley nodded with a faint smile. "It wasn't your fault either…Shadow Killer."

"Oh, don't start calling me that. You start calling me that and Hobby is never going to let it go."

"Neither will I!" Hammer called back. "Shadow Killer!"

Angel groaned.

* * *

Much to Angel's embarrassment, Marty and the others were still excitedly going over the morning as they sat down to chow, the name 'Shadow Killer' having spread just exactly as Angel had feared it would.

"I know who Jon is going to make his wingman now," Hank said with a wink her direction. Across the table, Jon shook his head.

"Do not make assumptions, Hank."

"Are you kidding me? She took down one of Alpha-"

"Yes, I was there," he said evenly. "There are many other things to take into consideration. I haven't made final decisions on any wingman parings yet, though I do have a more solid idea of the direction I might go."

"Do you know when you might decide?" Tinkerbell asked.

"A few more sessions like this morning should suffice," he said, then pointed his fork at Pagan. "That reminds me. I wanted to ask you about that little maneuver you did when paired with Siren. It was surprisingly effective- what made you think of it?"

Pagan looked surprised the conversation had now focused on him. As they started to talk, Parry sighed internally, grateful at least that it was no longer on her.

Sitting beside her, Ray smiled then leaned over just enough to bump her shoulder. "You really thought you'd abandoned me out there?" she asked.

"You thought you'd abandoned _me_," Parry replied.

"Touché," Ray said, then shook her head. "They were so fast, it was crazy. They almost flew like they were psychic, you know? Everything I tried to do it was like they thought of it first."

"Yeah, I hear you. After twenty years or so of this, we'll move like that too."

Ray grinned at her. "And we'll be scaring the piss out of new SFT Wings oursel-"

Her eyes shifted and she suddenly, rather abruptly stood up, nearly spilling her tray as she did, snapping a salute. Startled by her motion, the others at the table looked over, then surged to their feet as well, hands springing up into salutes as well.

Bastille was striding toward them, three others on her heels. Though she'd only seen one of the three in person before, Parry knew them all.

Shadow looked as stern and serious as she had when they'd arrived. Beside her was a taller, blonde woman with a spray of pink and green color in her short hair- Malibu. The man looked almost identical to Jondell, aged and seasoned a couple of decades. His gray eyes looked like flint.

Merlin Killdare.

"At ease, everyone," Bastille said. Hands dropped but Parry doubted any one of them actually relaxed. Malibu, a wide grin on her face, looked them over.

"So which one is the Shadow Killer?" she said happily. Parry felt her gut tighten in misery.

_Oh…fuck. How they fuck did THEY hear that name?_

"That would be Angel," Jondell said, and looked at her. Malibu strode right over, reaching out and grabbing Parry's hand, pumping it enthusiastically.

"Just had to shake your hand. I'm only disappointed I didn't get to see the look on her face when she realized she was tagged."

"Yes, we're all very amused, Rita," Shadow said. "Leave her be."

"Don't listen to her," Malibu said with a wink, but released Parry's hand. "The stick up her ass is well-rooted."

"It was a good game," Merlin said, looking at them all. "There are some fine pilots in this Wing. You were all well-chosen."

A self-conscious murmur of appreciation moved through the group, then his eyes fixed to his son. "Jon, if I might have a word with you briefly?"

"Of course," Jondell said instantly.

As the two men moved away, Bastille said, "You are slotted for PT this afternoon, which I'm sure your WC has already informed you. Malibu and Shadow will be supervising. I saw vid capture of your maneuvers and RvB match. I must agree with Zarold. The Confed's trust in you seems to be well-founded. You have much to learn and far to go, but keep up like you did today and you will all do the service and your species proud."

Another murmur of gratitude went through them. Nodding, Bastille turned and headed over toward where Merlin and Jondell were still talking. It was impossible to hear them, but Parry could see how stiff her WC looked.

_Is he getting a dressing down for something, or do he and his old man just not get along?_ she wondered.

"See you lot on the mat," Malibu said, giving them a wink before she headed that way too. Shadow, who had been mostly silent throughout the exchange, hesitated a moment before following. Her pale, artificial eyes seemed to fix Parry, but her expression gave no hint to what she might be thinking. Then, with a slight nod, she as well turned and went after the others.

Parry sat back down, her mouth suddenly dry. It didn't help when Marty looked at her with wide eyes.

"Dude, that look…she's either going to recommend you for promotion or snap your neck during PT."

"_Not helping_," Rafe said, glaring at the smaller man. "Parry, you ok?"

Words seemed to have lost themselves, but she managed a nod. Reaching for her water, she took a sip, trying to banish the sudden desert in her mouth.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Connie asked, her eyes on the distant group.

"I don't know, but Reaper doesn't look very happy, does he?" Judy replied.

Parry set her glass down numbly, picking up her fork and stirring at her food. _It was a lucky shot. That's all it was. She can't really be angry over a lucky shot during a game, can she? Oh fuck, I'm so fucking screwed..._

Beneath the table, warm fingers suddenly slid over her free hand, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Parry looked over in surprise at Ray, who gave her a soft smile that matched the squeeze, before she released her hand and turned her attention back to her meal.

Parry looked at her food again, and grinned.

_Even if Shadow tries to kill me and that nickname spread all over the station…this is the best day _ever_._


	8. Never Assume

PT started with a five mile run around an interior track to warm up. Parry used the time to think, her body settling into the rhythm of physical motion with little necessary guidance from her.

Special Forces training meant a far more grueling regimen than they were used to as pilots. It would be, on many levels, like being back in boot. They'd be expected not only to function in the cockpit but to also do things on the ground in case the occasion arose.

_Like taking down a Kilrathi terrorist biobase on foot_, she thought. What Merlin had done on that biobase had required him not only to know about Kilrathi computer and systems hacking, but also hand to hand, stealth moving in a near-vacuum with limited oxygen supplies, how to hack power supplies, and small arms fire combat in close, closed quarters. While SFT Wings sometimes formed front line escorts for solid ground troops, most of the time it was just them going in, and they had to act as infantry riflemen, bomb squad, assassin, and tech as well as knowing how to fly a tourney.

Recognizing her doubts were getting to her again she tried to refocus on other things. Was the stiffness between Jon and Merlin because they didn't get along? If they were seriously estranged, it might explain why Bastille had made the claim that no one had family outside of the Wing. Maybe she hadn't made a mistake and really _was_ including Jondell in that.

_Are they on such bad terms they don't consider each other family anymore_? she wondered. _What the heck could have happened that would create such an irreconcilable rift?_

Or was it just a situational anomaly, Zarold having to correct his son on some military matter as a course of rank, and they did genuinely get on just fine? _Perhaps Bastille didn't include Jon in that declaration because he's the WC and not a subordinate part of the Wing? Or because she was welcoming us specifically and therefore only referring to us specifically?_

In the end, it really was none of her business. She wasn't one for getting into someone else's personal matters, or gossiping over speculations. Jon and his father's relationship- or lack of one- was their own concern and it was up to them if they wanted to share the wherewithal's.

After their run finished they went into the PT room they'd been assigned. Malibu and Shadow, both in PT gear, were already waiting. Quickly, Malibu ran over an outline of what they were going to learn in the next year.

"This may sound overwhelming now but don't sweat it," she said. "Before you know it you'll be doing things you didn't think you'd ever be capable of. For now, we're going to start with basic hand-to-hand technique, and we're going to learn the very _first_ rule of close quarters combat. Does anyone know what that rule is?"

Judy tentatively raised her hand, and Malibu nodded to her. "Yes?"

"Don't die?"

A chuckle rippled through the group, and Malibu grinned. "Well, that is definitely an important rule to keep in mind, but no, not exactly. Let's get the first pair up here and I'll show you what I mean. 2nd Lt. Gorski, front and center please."

Rafe got to his feet, padding over to her side and stretching his arms. Tall as she was, even Malibu had to look up a bit.

"Well, you are a healthy one aren't you?" she said, then snapped her fingers. "2nd Lt. Cox, front and center."

Shock rippled through the group as Marty bounced to his feet and walked over. Connie leaned over slightly and Parry heard her whisper, "She's not going to make Marty fight _Rafe_ is she?"

"Is she trying to humiliate him? Rafe can break him in half!" Judy whispered back.

"This exercise is simple, with a simple objective," Malibu said. "2nd. Lt. Gorski."

"Yes ma'am?"

"I want you to put Cox on the ground. Cox?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"I want you to put Gorski on the ground. Am I understood, gentlemen?"

"Ma'am?" Rafe looked worried.

"Do you have a problem, Gorski?" she asked, returning her eyes to him. "Put your enemy on the ground. Those are your orders. Do you not understand your orders?"

"No, ma'am, I understand them, I just-"

"Then follow your orders. On my mark."

She stepped back to allow the two room, her hand held up. Then she nodded as she dropped it sharply. "Go."

It was over in a split second, and the group gasped. Parry stared, unable to believe what she had just seen.

Rafe was on the ground, coughing for breath, the echoing slam of him hitting the mat still ringing around the room. Marty was on his feet, looking apologetic.

"Gorski, are you all right?" Malibu asked. Rafe nodded weakly, getting his air back as he slowly pushed himself back toward his feet. She nodded and looked at the rest of them.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the first rule of close quarters combat. _Never assume_. Never make assumptions about your enemy or his capabilities. As far as you are concerned your enemy is _always_ faster than you, _always_ stronger than you, no matter his size or his appearance of frailty. Your enemy is _always_ armed, even if you can see no weapon, even if he is standing naked in front of you. Your enemy _always_ intends to kill you. Every one of you, including Gorski, made the mistake of assuming that his superiority in size gave him the upper hand. Every one of you assumed that he was in danger of hurting Cox. Every one of you was _wrong_. 2nd Lt. Cox, please tell us why you were able to drop 2nd Lt. Gorski so quickly."

"I'm a black belt in Brazilian ju-jitsu," he replied sheepishly.

"I didn't know that," Rafe said, now on his feet.

"Exactly," Malibu replied. "There are _always_ things about your enemy you do not know. In order to win, in order to survive, each and every time you step in front of your enemy you must have no doubt in your mind that he is not only willing, but he is also extremely _capable_ of killing you. Size does not matter in hand to hand combat. A small, unarmed opponent is still capable of killing you. An apparently sick, weak, even dying opponent is still capable of killing you. _Never assume_. Assumptions end in death and mission failure. Dropping your guard based on assumptions ends in death and mission failure. Death and mission failure are _not options_."

She let this sink in a moment, then continued. "Now, we're going to work on some basic grappling moves that do not rely on weight or strength, and how to counter them. Gorski, you may return to your spot. Cox is going to help me demonstrate some of these moves. Jainaba, you are up first…"

Connie hopped to her feet and headed over as Rafe sat back down near Parry. She noticed he didn't look at her, his cheeks reddened with more than just the heat of their warm-up run.

She couldn't blame him. Cox hadn't told them or even acted like he was capable of that kind of physical maneuver. Jason didn't look surprised so clearly he knew, but the rest of them were in the dark.

_I don't think he intentionally didn't tell us, it's just probably never come up_, she thought, looking at the smaller man. She didn't know much about Brazilian ju-jitsu but she did know it was very hard and took a long time and a lot of discipline to become a black belt.

_The same discipline that must have kept him from putting Rafe on his ass when he was bumping him around earlier on the way to the flight deck. _

But had that been discipline, or just an acknowledgement that he knew Rafe was joking around and just being himself, and in the interests of friendship he just didn't bother?

_What else don't I know about this crew?_ she thought. _Ray is the daughter of a vicious and notorious terrorist. Marty can probably kick all our collective asses without breaking a sweat. What else haven't I learned about the rest of them yet? Can Hank perform field surgery? Is Judy capable of decoding Kilrathi encryptions with her eyes closed?_

One thing she _did_ know, things had to start coming out quickly, otherwise they weren't going to be able to form the level of trust and dependence on one another that they needed to succeed.

For the next few hours they were paired up and put through moves that they'd been shown. Watching a particularly long grapple between Billy and Jason, Parry found herself glancing over to where Ray was sitting, her mind drifting to the brief hand-squeeze back in mess.

She forced herself to focus back on what was happening in front of her, chiding herself. _Knock it off. Stop hoping to get paired up to grapple with Ray just because you want an excuse._

Jason finally got Billy down, and Malibu nodded. "All right, clear the mat. Mazurek, it's your turn again."

Parry hopped to her feet. _Please pick Ray, please pick Ray…_

"I'll take this one," Shadow suddenly said, speaking for the first time since they'd started. Malibu had been handling all the instruction, Shadow merely watching and measuring with those strange eyes of hers, keeping to the background. As Parry heard her speak, her stomach sank.

_She wants to kick my ass because of this morning._

If Malibu thought the same she gave no indication. She merely glanced at her wingmate and nodded, stepping back. Shadow moved forward, taking her spot. Awkwardly, Parry got into the starting position, she and the older woman taking hold of each other's arms. Up close, those eyes were even spookier, showing faint circuitry and electronics, the pupils shifting in ways that human pupils were never meant to move.

Malibu nodded, then barked, "Begin!"

A breath later Parry was hitting the mat hard. She slammed her hand down in irritation and started to her feet as Malibu said, "Again. Remember, watch your footing and center of gravity."

She and the silent Shadow took hold of each other again, and a moment later, Parry again found herself slamming to the mat.

"Again!" Malibu barked. "Mazurek, you have benefit of reach. Use it."

"Never assume," Parry panted as she took hold of Shadow again. Malibu nodded with a smirk.

"Exactly right. So watch what she's doing and compensate. Begin!"

This time, Parry managed to stay off the mat a few seconds longer. Straining, she and the older pilot circled each other as they tried to each press an advantage. Then, Shadow's hips pivoted, she ducked and turned into Parry and…

…Parry was hitting the mat with a slam.

"Better," Malibu said as she weakly got to her feet. "All right, Wing, that's time."

"Wing, on your feet," Jondell said, and as the others got to their feet Shadow walked off toward Malibu, who was gathering her towel and other gear. "Weapon's training in the range in twenty minutes. Clear out."

As they started to file out Ray drifted over to Parry, looking at her with knit brows. "You ok? She dropped you pretty hard."

"Nah, I'm fine," she said, flexing her arm and shoulder wearily. "I just…"

She glanced back a moment, then touched Ray's arm. "Go on. I'll catch up."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

Ray didn't look convinced, but headed after the others as Parry lingered, then turned back, walking over toward Malibu and Shadow, who were heading toward the opposite door.

"Ma'am, if I may have a moment ma'am?"

The two paused and looked back at her.

"Is there a problem, Mazurek?" Malibu asked.

"I would like to speak with Colonel Rochester for a moment if I may?"

Shadow looked at Malibu with a short nod. "Go ahead, Rita."

As Malibu left, Shadow regarded Parry. "Yes, 2nd Lieutenant?"

"Permission to speak candidly, ma'am?"

"Of course."

"I just…I wanted to apologize for shooting you down this morning. I'm sorry-"

"Excuse me?" Shadow asked, hardness coming over her face. Parry immediately regretted having said anything.

"I-I just wanted to apologize-"

"No," Shadow replied. "There is nothing to apologize for, Mazurek. You took down an enemy in combat. Do not apologize for doing so, am I clear?"

"Y-yes, ma'am…I just…you seemed angry, and I-"

Shadow let out a faint breath, then nodded. "Then I owe you _my_ apology," she said. "If I have given you the idea that I am angry with you that is not the case. I was very impressed by you this morning. You handled your tourney like an artist. You and your entire Wing did exceptionally well. You all went into that RvB with the solid and accurate idea that you would lose."

"We _did_ lose."

"Not the point. You all agreed to fight us anyway, _knowing_ you would lose. You all, and you especially, still gave that fight everything you had. That is the mark of an exceptional pilot and an exceptional Wing. It is not what we do when we are certain of victory that makes us…but what we do when we are certain of defeat."

Parry stared at her, then slowly nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I think I get it."

Shadow smiled. The expression suddenly made her look warmer than she had ever before. "Good," she said.

"I have to ask then…what was that all about? The wrestling…? I mean, if you're not angry at me-"

"Slamming you down so hard you mean?" Shadow asked.

"Not really, I mean, it's training. You're not supposed to take it easy on us and I can take a hit as well as the next person. I was expecting that. It's just…_wanting_ to fight in the first place. Why volunteer when I was picked?"

"Honestly? I was just getting bored watching."

"That…that's _all?_"

"Yes," Shadow smiled, no hint of a lie anywhere in her bearing. "That is all. Are we good?"

"Yes ma'am," she said, straightening and returning the smile. "Yes, I think we're good."

"Good." She reached out and clapped Parry on the arm. "Don't be afraid to bring up your concerns with me, Mazurek…or anyone else in Alpha. We are here to help you, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am. I understand. Thank you ma'am."

"You are welcome. Now go and join your wingmates at the range. We can speak later if you have any further concerns."

Parry nodded, tossing off a salute before hurrying over and grabbing her towel.

"Just remember, Mazurek," Shadow's voice stopped her just as she reached the door. Parry turned and looked at her.

"_Never assume_. That goes for people as well combat situations. Things are rarely, _rarely_ what they appear to be, and people…people are even more so. Understand?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Ok. Now get. You're going to be late."

Parry got.

* * *

The next few weeks fell into a grueling routine, every minute of every day packed with flight training, physical training, demolitions and survival training, weapons' training, or whatever other kind of training they thought might one day, maybe, be of use.

Jon had finally assigned wingmen after their fourth session in the tourneys. He'd chosen Judy as his wingman, and Parry fully agreed with the choice. Of all of them, Judy's fighting style seemed to do best with Jon's, the two anticipating each other with almost uncanny synchrony.

In the end, none of the assignments really came as a surprise, and they all thought they were very fitting choices. He assigned Gameshow with Pagan, Siren with Rabbit, and Hammer with Hobby…and Angel with Ripley.

When he'd announced them, Parry had remained perfectly still but inside, she was dancing with excitement. Logically, it was a good choice. Parry felt most comfortable flying with Ray and much like Jon and Judy, the two of them seemed to anticipate each other, sense what the other was going to do. They supported and complimented each other very well. Still, until he'd actually said the words she had been certain he was going to put her with Rafe- not that she would have minded, of course, but it just felt…_right_, that she and Ripley be together.

_In more ways than one, if I want to be truly honest with myself_. That smile had lost none of its addictiveness.

The physical training had started off fairly easy after they'd first arrived but now it was agony. Parry felt like she didn't stop moving from the moment her eyes popped open until she collapsed back into her bunk on the end of the day.

Mixed in with the rest of it, there were trust exercises designed to make them more cohesive as a Wing. They had to rely on each other for everything, both in the pit and out of it. More and more, as she got to know them better and better, Parry felt those intended bonds growing- felt her respect for Jondell as a leader and a very skilled pilot solidifying. He knew what he was doing. He knew all their strengths and weaknesses and how to change the latter to the former in each individual. He didn't give careless orders, didn't put people at risk, and most of all, didn't consider himself above them. He was right there doing everything they were doing- whether it be running a twenty mile track jog with a fifty pound pack on their backs, or taking apart a simulated explosive device.

Unfortunately, the schedule left little time for leisure. Mess was nearly their only down time- with rare sprinklings of an hour or half an hour free in the evening to hit the rec or the park- and more and more often it was still the entire Wing together when they did get those precious few moments.

It seemed the more that Parry wanted to spend some quiet time in just Ray's company, the less they had the chance to do that.

Rubbing at a highly irritated shoulder muscle, Parry limped back toward her bunk on this particular evening. They'd had tolerance and stress testing that morning- something she hadn't had to do since boot. This time, they weren't just locked in a box with tear gas so they could see how it felt and adapt to it. No, this time, they got two other forms of gas too in addition to the tear, as well as just having their oxygen pumped out of 'the Box' so they could experience what suffocation to the point of unconsciousness actually felt like.

At some stage, they were going to have to do brief actual vacuum exposure without a suit or protective gear at all. To say Parry wasn't looking forward to it was an understatement.

And that was just this morning. PT in the afternoon made her absolutely sure they were literally trying to kill her and the entire Wing, they were just taking bets to see whose heart would explode first.

She had to be up for full patrol in the morning and she was so ragged and exhausted she'd nearly fallen asleep in the shower. Evening mess felt like an eternity ago, and all she wanted to do was collapse and sleep.

Just as she reached the door, someone called her name.

"Parry!"

Ray was heading toward her, looking just as ragged as Parry was sure she looked. A purple bruise on the side of her neck was left-over from combat training a couple of days ago, where Jason had accidentally gotten an elbow strike.

"Ray? You ok?" Parry asked.

"Beyond feeling like I'm ready to collapse, sure," she said. "I just…wanted to talk if you have a second?"

"Yeah, of course," Parry said, though every molecule of her down to the roots of her hair started whining about 'sleep'.

She palmed open her door and waved Ray in. "I'd offer you a drink but as you can see, they forgot to install the bar in my luxury penthouse."

Ray smirked at her. "Funny, they forgot mine too."

"Good thing neither of us drinks then," Parry said, then sat down on her bunk. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing much, it just seems we can't get two minutes to talk any more. Not without the whole Wing there. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love those guys, it's just…"

"You want to talk with just me?" Parry asked, trying to conceal both her surprise and her hope.

"Shouldn't I?" Ray asked, sitting down beside her. "Parry, you're the first person I've been able to trust…the first that didn't break that trust. I wanted to thank you for that. You've had a million chances to tell the Wing and you haven't. You've had a million opportunities to tear me down because of it and you didn't. Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me for that, Ray," Parry told her. "It's just what's right to do. That said, you still should tell the Wing…when you're ready, I mean. You know them now. None of them are going to hold it against you."

"I know they won't, I know…but _knowing_ it and _feeling_ it are two different things," she replied, picking idly at the side of Parry's blanket.

"I know…and there's no rush," Parry told her, reaching out and laying her hand on Ray's to stop the nervous motion (well, _mostly_ to stop the nervous motion). "You'll tell them when you're ready."

Ray looked at her, then turned her hand so that she was holding Parry's. She smiled a little.

"You really _are_ an angel, aren't you?"

Parry shook her head self-consciously. "Nah. I'm just a pilot."

Ray just looked at her a moment, then gave her hand a squeeze. "Well, I'll let you get some rack time. God knows I need some too- I swear it feels like they're trying to prove to us we don't need sleep at all, that it's just some kind of a bad habit we've fallen into over the years."

"Doesn't it though?" Parry agreed with a huff, then chuckled. Ray stood up, her hand sliding away.

"Definitely," she said. "Anyway…thank you again. I'll see you for patrol tomorrow."

Parry didn't know what made her do it. The notion passed into her mind and it was like her body decided to act before her brain could kick in to stop her. Ray reached the door, her hand extending to open it, and Parry surged to her feet.

"Ray, wait!"

She crossed the short distance between them as Ray turned to look at her. She saw her hands land on Ray's shoulders as if they belonged to a stranger. Without once slowing her momentum, her thoughts held tightly into a frantic white noise, she ducked her head and did what she'd wanted to do from that very first night, back in that bar outside Yelchin.

She kissed her.


	9. The Day it Ended

Angel could tell by the serious look on Reaper's face that morning at deck muster it was going to be another long day. It was November the 22nd, in the year 2212- just over six months from the first day she'd set foot on Houston. Most of her attention was back just seven short hours ago in her quarters, when Ray had come to thank her for keeping her secret.

Angel, of course, had no way of knowing the events that were going to unfold. Later on when a lot of it was foggy and much had been forgotten or had blended in to one long nightmare, this part would remain oddly clear, permanently etched in her mind. When asked to tell the story, though her words would invariably start elsewhere, her thoughts always started here: standing at deck muster on the morning of November the 22nd, in the year 2212, listening to her WC and thinking about Ripley thanking her for keeping her secret.

Thinking about that kiss.

"Ok, people, real quick," Reaper said. "We're on a full patrol this morning, base to Livewire on a Hetchler loop, then back to base. Nothing we haven't run before, but Fleet status at 0245 this morning went to Code Orange. There is some Kilrathi activity near our side of the Territories. Specifics haven't been handed to me but patrols along the main front have been increased and there is a strong chance the Fleet may go full Code Red. They do not, I repeat, _do not_ expect activity along our patrol route. However, as you know we are now flying full complement and live-fire. If needed we will divert our patrol route to any battle scenario along the main front and bolster our forces there. Even once we return from patrol we will remain at scramble-ready until the Fleet lowers our readiness code. Am I understood?"

"Ahroo!"

"Very good. Break to fighters and launch as cleared. Full formation at rendezvous nav point. Clear."

Angel looked toward Ripley as they broke in opposite directions for their hangars, but the other pilot wasn't looking her way. Doing her best to focus on the here and now, Angel slid into Silver Girl, locked in, and taxied out to the launch as her hanger went live.

By now, flying the fighter was comfortable and familiar. She knew every quirk, the result of even the lightest twitch on the stick or the subtlest shift of gravity. Hetchler was the gas giant that they'd seen coming in to Houston on that first day, and their patrol route would take them on a loop around it. Between the planet and its four or five moons of varying sizes, the gravity shifts in that area could be strong, and adjustments to maneuverability had to be made that weren't necessary in the free vacuum of training space.

This wasn't the first time they'd flown live-fire. Any patrol route outside the training grounds required it. The Fleet couldn't afford keeping any Wing long directly on the front if that Wing was no good in a fight. Had they not been formed into an SFT Wing requiring new line planes and extra training, they'd have been live-fire on their first day.

They moved into formation at the first nav rendezvous just outside the station, and plugged in for their first nav point that would take them to Livewire, an unmanned communications and breach alert relay on the far edge of this flank of the front. Angel wasn't particularly concerned as they started on their way- this was also not the first time they'd been on patrol or scramble-ready during a Code Orange. Once, they'd even been on during a Code Red, though they hadn't seen actual combat- by the time they reached it the few johnnies who had prodded at their defenses had been taken down or chased back across the Territories and there was nothing left to do but escort S&R ships sweeping the small amount of debris left behind.

Hetchler was at the very edge of the Territories border on the far flank of the front itself. One of Hetchler's larger moons, IP-32974 (Or, Little Ippy, as it was often called) orbited in and out of the Territories as a normal part of its course. Sometimes the Cats would try and sneak across into the Front on that flank, but doing so put them in a bad spot. First, they had to cross a vast amount of wide open space once they did so to reach _Houston_ or the Fleet, giving the Confed plenty of time to spot them and send in fighters. Secondly, even if they slipped past or took out Livewire and somehow missed being spotted, they would have to fly for weeks before reaching…_anything_ other than the First Fleet. Even if they hauled over their own jump gate- necessitating using a prime ship which _would_ be spotted before it even got into the Territories to begin with-they'd have to travel long and slow for weeks directly in Confed territory to get it anywhere useful.

If the Fleet was on Orange it was definitely the place to be for patrol.

There was a little bit of chatter as they sailed toward Hetchler, the gas giant a slowly growing golden coin in the distance, but not much. Useless chatter on the comm lines was discouraged at the best of times, and was grounds for discipline during a Code Orange, even when you were on the Livewire patrol. Angel, focusing on her instruments and her scans, did her best to keep her thoughts in the present and not on that kiss.

She started to grin, realized she'd exactly failed, and refocused on her scans again.

Even moving as fast as they were, it was nearly half an hour before they reached the first navpoint. Their second would be Livewire itself, the Wing doing a full flyby with tech scan to make sure nothing was amiss with the array, before they would swing around the gas giant and head back toward _Houston_.

Course correcting to intercept Livewire, the Wing kept on.

_{WC, I have Livewire on my scans,}_ Tinkerbell's voice was the first to break the silence as they approached.

_{Confirmed. Hobby and Hammer, you are on visual; Ripley and Angel, tech scan. Rabbit, go for Houston report and comm check.}_

Angel and Ripley broke to the right as the Wing split down the middle, then split again, Angel passing on the Confed side of the array and Ripley swinging to the Territories side. As they passed it, they set a full sensor sweep over it, making sure there was no hardware damage, no Kilrathi infiltrator clinging to its side, no explosive device planted. Hammer and Hobby were doing the same thing, just looking with their actual eyes instead of focusing on the scanner data. Rabbit was tapping in to Livewire's own communications system to report to Houston the check had been worked and that the interior systems were functioning within specs.

Most of it was redundant, of course. Livewire would set off alarms immediately if someone landed on its side, if it took any kind of damage, or even if its communications systems failed. Still, that was the Confed way- build in three million failsafes and then have people double check on regular intervals, as a failsafe to the failsafes.

The sweep done and everything coming up green, the Wing reformed up and they swung toward Hetchler. Angel made minor adjustments to her instruments as the gravity fields of the planet and its various moons began to be felt.

_Parry didn't know what made her do it. The notion passed into her mind and it was like her body decided to act before her brain could kick in to stop her. Ray reached the door, her hand extending to open it, and Parry surged to her feet._

"_Ray, wait!"_

_She crossed the short distance between them as Ray turned to look at her. She saw her hands land on Ray's shoulders as if they belonged to a stranger. Without once slowing her momentum, her thoughts held tightly into a frantic white noise, she ducked her head and did what she'd wanted to do from that very first night, back in that bar outside Yelchin._

_She kissed her._

Angel felt the smile starting to appear again, then suddenly jolted as Hobby's voice filled her ears.

_{Reaper, I have four unidentified bogeys closing in fast on mark 234 niner, repeat, mark 234 niner!}_

_{Confirmed, four unidentified bogeys on 234 niner-}_ Reaper, as always, sounded incredibly calm but he barely had time to confirm when Hammer's voice interrupted him.

_{I have an additional four, repeat, four unidentified bogeys on fast, 76 niner point three!}_

_{They're coming around the moon,}_ Ripley said. Angel's eyes had darted to her own instruments, then to the moon itself.

"I've got a full ping, confirmed," she heard her own voice say. "WC we have four Kilrathi M-Class johnnies coming up around Little Ippy on the western side!"

_{Ping confirmed, 234-niner are Kilrathi M-Class coming in from the Territories,}_ Hobby said. _{They are at attack speed, weapons' range in thirty!}_

{Houston _this is Rho_, Houston _this is Rho_,} Reaper said. _{We have eight hostiles closing in on our Wing at six clicks past Livewire at attack speed! Do we have clearance to engage?}_

_{Acknowledged Rho, sending reinforcements, you are weapons' free.}_

_{Wing, weapons' free!}_

"Here we go," Angel again heard herself say. She felt remarkably calm and clear headed but it almost felt as if her body were speaking and moving just outside of her conscious control.

_That's what all the training is for_, she thought. _Just trust in the training._

She and Ripley broke right with Siren and Rabbit, toward the four closing in from the planet side. With a snap of her finger she switched the safeties on her Grizzlies, leaving them ready to fire.

The johnnies sailed in, low and fast and angry, her board registering weapons' fire a breath before she saw the bright flashes of their guns.

She'd been in dogfights before, just never with actual Kilrathi. Simulations, targets, RvB with friendlies, none of it could take the place of actually being in the thick with true enemy ships who didn't want to score points, who weren't concerned with ranking or preprogrammed maneuvers.

All they wanted to do was kill her and her friends.

As it had been fighting Alpha Wing that first day, Angel very quickly found herself in a seemingly chaotic swirl of hostile fighters and ordinance, a thousand different things flashing up on her boards at once. Slipping through the initial barrage of fire she pelted her own shot against the flank of one of the johnnies. The shot hit but it wasn't enough to seriously damage the other vessel.

Almost as one, she and Ripley turned around after the drive by, keeping in tight. Focusing one of the johnnies in her sights as it began to turn she realized they had a hell of an advantage. These Kilrathi were good, but their fighters were not as new or cutting edge as theirs were. They were slower to maneuver, slower to turn.

_Take advantage, but never assume._

Voices were still filling her ears, including her own. Despite the chaotic nature of everything that was happening everyone sounded incredibly calm. Were she not so focused Angel might have been astounded…and incredibly proud. No matter how they might act otherwise, when it counted her friends were all professional fighter pilots down to the marrow of their bones.

_{Hit. Minor damage on my port shielding,}_ Siren said.

_{Reaper, one down,}_ Rabbit said almost in the same moment. _{He skimmed Siren but I got him.}_

_{Tighten up the left flank-Houston how long until reinforcements?}_

_{Be advised, Charlie on course to you now, but we have hostiles hitting along the main line of the front. We are at full Code Red engagement.}_

That wasn't good news. Full Code Red meant that if they had to, they'd pull Charlie back in to the main front and Rho would be on their own. It was far more important to protect Houston and the carriers and destroyers of the Fleet than a single Wing out by a communications array in the most isolated area of the Front.

_{Acknowledged, Wing keep on full engagement. These bad boys are all ours.}_

_{Ahroo!}_ Hammer replied with a whoop.

Angel dodged more fire, then lit up one who was closing on Ripley's flank, driving him off again. Two more johnnies went down on the other end of the field, the blips dropping off her board in time with flashes of light. Getting a lock on another she sent off a Grizzly, grinning without mirth as the missile hit home perfectly, dissolving the johnny in a flare of light and debris.

_{Nice shot, Angel,}_ Ripley said.

_{Close up you two, you're getting pulled,}_ Reaper said. Angel gave a quick glance to her board and noticed that he was right…the fight had gotten them some distance from the others, closer to the moon and the gravity well. The gravity itself was drifting them even further off course.

At the same time, she noticed another three hostiles appear from seeming nowhere, aiming directly at them.

"I have three more johnnies on my scope, bearing 837!"

_{Why the heck are they hitting us so hard?}_ Hobby asked. _{All these ships to take out one patrol on the ass end of the front? Why?}_

_{Focus!}_

The three johnnies closed in and then turned…one toward Reaper and the others, and two toward Ripley and Angel, who were still trying to clear their way back into the main fray. Angel's eyes went wide as an alarm sounded.

"I have missile lock!"

Picking up speed, she sent Silver Girl darting to the right, then the left, trying to shake the johnny now firmly locked on her tail. She didn't need to look to see the missile break away from it, heading straight for her tourney- her screens and her gut all told her.

When light flashed behind her and her boards all lit up at once, for a split second she thought that was it. The missile had hit her and she was dead.

Instead, her aft shields flared in warning, reporting damage, and the blip on her tail vanished. Ripley had swung in from the side and taken both ship and missile out with one of her own.

_{Angel, you are clear!} _

"I have damage to my aft shielding but I have maneuverability, my engines are not-fuck, _Ripley!"_

The blast shook Silver Girl hard, alarms and warnings bleeping and flashing from every end. Angel was in a hard spin, and the stick suddenly felt as stiff as granite. Muscles straining to the painful point she struggled the fighter back into a flat course, feeling it shudder as it fought her, being hauled hard by the gas giant's gravity well.

Voices were ringing in her ears, but she couldn't make them out, couldn't hear anything but the alarms, the thundering of her heart, the gasping whoop of her breathing, a dull drone of nameless, wordless sounds.

Silver Girl had been hit fairly hard but she was regaining flight control and wasn't in danger of going up. She'd be able to make the flight back to Houston but at cruising speeds only. Right now that was of little concern. Even the fact that she'd been hit, yet the Cats hadn't gone in for the kill, was of little concern.

On her scope and through her canopy she could see Gold Rush. The fighter had taken the brunt of the blast and was badly damaged, sprays of fuel leaving dancing trails edged with brief, blue flame spitting out of her as she yawed heavily, tumbling out of control. She was caught in the moon's gravity, and no fewer than two of the johnnies were closing in with clear intent.

Then, one of the voices clarified and tuned back in- Ripley, sounding shaken and breathless.

_{I have no control, repeat, no control! I have lost engines and maneuvering thrusters!}_

"Ripley, I'm coming!" Angel put Silver Girl to her highest speed. "Hang on, I'm coming!"

_{Angel, your fighter is damaged, you won't be able to escape the moon's gravity,}_ Reaper said. _{Pull back, we're on our way in-}_

A quick glance at her board and she shook her head, jaw tight. They were still hard-pressed, and the other johnnies were between them still. It would take them a few minutes to clear a path and by then it would be too late.

"Negative, Reaper, you won't make it in time. I am in pursuit!"

_{Angel, you_ will not _be able to pull out of the moon's gravity!}_ Reaper said again. _{Pull back, 2__nd__ Lieutenant! That is a goddamn _order!}

"I'm not leaving my wingman," she said low under her breath, her teeth grit.

_{Angel!}_

"Sir! I am not leaving my _goddamn wingman_, sir! If she goes down I am goddamn going down with her!"

She tried to press even more speed out of the laboring Silver Girl, her board suddenly flashing as she got a missile lock on the nearest johnny. Praying it wasn't too close to Gold Rush, she let fly. The Kilrathi ship's back end swelled and then tore apart. The second swung in and opened fire.

Angel saw the shot tear over Gold Rush's flank, well away from the pit. It was odd that he fired there rather than into her pit or directly into her engines, but Angel didn't have time to dwell on it. Getting a second lock, she slammed her hand down as the Cat turned back, now much too close to Gold Rush to risk taking him out. If she hit him the tourney would go up too.

Switching to small weapons she tore several thousand rounds over his nose, making him pull away from his attack run on the dying tourney. Apparently irritated by this, she was unsurprised to see the Cat correct its course right toward her.

"That's it you fucker, you leave her alone and you come to me," she growled.

_{Angel, just go!}_

"I'm not leaving you Ripley!"

_{Just go! Go!}_

"I'm not leaving you."

Her board flashed a lock, and she fired.

* * *

The thin atmosphere of Little Ippy stirred, dust and silt suddenly swirling in tornados as superheated air ripped across their surface, the roar of the damned shattering the silence.

The tumbling tourney, shedding debris, flared with fire as oxygen finally fed it. There was the scream of tearing metal as what remained of its port side ripped over a ridge of jagged rock. Plowing into the sand, the ruined fighter sent up a wave of dirt and fuel.

Slowly, the wreck came to a rest. Metal, glass, and pools of fuel were scattered everywhere, much of it still on fire. Smoke coiled and billowed into the air, twisting in snakes and columns that spun through the settling fog of dirt that had been driven upwards.

For a long moment, the only sound was the flames.

Then, another engine roared.

* * *

Silver Girl landed hard, the pedals mush under Angel's feet. She skidded badly on the loose soil of the moon's surface, sinking a good two or three inches before finally finding rock underneath. Listing to the side, groaning with the stress, the wounded fighter stuttered stubbornly to a halt.

Unlocking her harness, unplugging her suit from the fighter with frantic yanks of her hands, Angel switched over to her emergency oxygen supply instead. While Ippy's air was breathable it was also thin, and running over her surface would be like trying to marathon on top of a mountain back on Earth.

Popping the hatch, she pushed it out of her way, climbing out of the fighter.

Pain was aching through her but she couldn't even tell at the moment where it was coming from. The sheer amount of adrenaline in her system reduced it to white noise, making it easy to force away.

In the distance she could see the coils of smoke where Gold Rush had gone down.

"Reaper, can you hear me?" she panted as she started that way at a fast jog. When no reply came she tried again. "Reaper, are you reading, this is Angel!"

Silence.

"Ripley, can you hear me, are you receiving me?"

Silence.

"Hammer? Rabbit- anyone! Is anyone receiving this?"

Nothing.

Reaching up to her helmet she switched to emergency frequencies, but the empty click told her that she would have no more luck there than elsewhere. She tried anyway.

"_Houston_, this is Angel, please respond. _Houston_, are you receiving?"

Giving up, she climbed over a low but uneven ridge of rocks, working her way carefully down the other side. As soon as her hands were free she grabbed her arm, tearing open a flap and switching on her emergency beacon. She felt the faint pulse start as it began to ping.

_At least_ that _is working_, she thought. The Wing and any S&R ships would be able to pick it up and find her by following the signal.

She reached the edge of the debris field for the crash and picked up speed. Gold rush had been torn up pretty good but the pit and main fuselage seemed somewhat intact, if not swirling with smoke. Most of the fire surrounded the engine bay which had been torn free of the main body, and a few puddles of fuel she ran around to avoid.

The fighter was canted hard on its port side, leaving the pit at an angle. As she neared it the swirling smoke all but consumed her. Her HUD immediately switched its visual spectrum to allow her to 'see' despite the smoke and dust.

She reached the canopy but could not get it open. Slapping on the side of it, she hoped to get a return slap or some sign that Ripley was conscious, but nothing happened. The canopy itself was obscured with dirt that had been plowed up as the ship dug into Little Ippy.

Finding the manual release with a few growled curses, she hauled on it hard, slamming the canopy again with her shoulder, straining as much as she was able.

With a groan of metal, the canopy slowly pulled, and then suddenly popped loose. Gripping its edge, she wrestled it up and away.

"Ripley?"

In the pit, Ripley was slumped to the side toward Angel. She was motionless. Reaching in, working at an awkward angle, Angel managed to grip her shoulder, giving it a gentle shake. "Ripley? C'mon, don't do this. Come on! Give me a sign!"

Nothing. Leveraging herself a bit better she reached in further, groping along Ripley's harness until she found the release. Freeing it, she carefully edged it over Ripley's shoulders and helmet. She started to quest for wounds when suddenly something grabbed her hard by the arm.

She was ripped back with such force she was airborne for a moment before her back and shoulders hit the ground.

Despite the flare of pain that raged through her at the impact she almost immediately tried to surge back to her feet. Something big was standing in the swirl of smoke beside Ripley's pit, but she didn't get much of a chance to focus on it. As she started to get up, the air was filled with a loud ratcheting sound and a big boot slammed hard into her shoulder, bashing her back down again.

White heat knifed through her chest as her collar bone fractured at the blow, the air barking out of her lungs again. For a long, drifting moment of nausea and fading pain, consciousness sailed into an echoing gray soup of distance.

It tuned back in as someone grabbed her arm and hauled her up and onto her knees. Her helmet was ripped away with a forceful yank, and metal dug in to her temple hard enough she felt a slip of blood begin to trickle down her cheek.

The thin air was chill beneath the heat from the nearby fire, and bitter with smoke. She coughed raggedly, eyes streaming as they immediately burned from the fumes.

She looked up.

Three figures that could only be Kilrathi were gathered around her. She could not see their faces thanks to their own helmets, but their suits were anything but Confed. They were broad shouldered with narrower waists and thick, heavy thighs. The one closest to her was crouched, pressing a pistol to her head. She leaned away from it slightly but he only pressed it harder, and she stopped.

She could not look around but she could hear engines, heavy footsteps. There were more than just the three of them.

The one crouched beside her said something. While she had heard Kilrathi language tapes and knew a few phrases, she was far from proficient and the snarl was so thick she could barely make out what should have been words to begin with.

When she said nothing in response he pressed his weapon harder and repeated whatever it was more loudly.

"I don't understand you," she said. He snarled again, pulling the pistol away from her temple just far enough that she felt the heat of the shot he fired warm her forehead. He planted the metal against her temple again and again, made whatever demand he had been repeating.

"I do not understand you!" she repeated again, hating herself for the frantic edge to her voice. Her entire body felt like it was shaking.

He looked at one of the other ones who was lingering near the cockpit, and said something else. Turning, that one leaned into the pit, reached his hand in.

Angel's eyes narrowed. "You _leave her alone_ you fucking Cat!"

Both her captor and the one near the pit ignored her. The one near the pit straightened again and said something back to the first. The first responded, and the other reached in again, then repeated what he'd said more angrily.

Though she still didn't understand what they were saying, their body language and tone told it all.

Her captor: Is that one alive?

The second one, checking: I don't think so, sir.

Her captor: Be sure!

The second one, checking again: I'm telling you, it's not alive!

Her captor: Be absolutely sure you fucking idiot!

This sank in as the one near the pit suddenly drew his weapon with an irritated motion. Her eyes flew wide. Ignoring the weapon at her own head she leaned forward, screaming.

"_No!"_

There were heavy, air-cracking barks as the one near the pit fired two shots into its pilot. Something swung in toward her face, the blow of the pistol seeming as soft as a puff of air, bringing with it a descending soft cloud of nothing, cooling the scream still burning through her lungs.


	10. How Angels Fall

A/N: Warning. Bit of shmexy at the beginning.

* * *

_Parry didn't know what made her do it. The notion passed into her mind and it was like her body decided to act before her brain could kick in to stop her. Ray reached the door, her hand extending to open it, and Parry surged to her feet._

"_Ray, wait!"_

_She crossed the short distance between them as Ray turned to look at her. She saw her hands land on Ray's shoulders as if they belonged to a stranger. Without once slowing her momentum, her thoughts held tightly into a frantic white noise, she ducked her head and did what she'd wanted to do from that very first night, back in that bar outside Yelchin._

_She kissed her._

_The moment her lips touched Ray's her brain kicked into gear, too late to actually stop her but determined to frantically remind her why this was such a bad idea and wonder what the hell was she thinking._

_This was going to ruin their friendship. This was going to break the bond of trust they'd forged as wingmen. Ray was going to be nothing but repulsed, feel betrayed._

_As a result, almost the moment she got full pressure on the kiss from her own momentum, she was reversing it, pulling away._

_Hands suddenly came up on the sides of her face, halting her. _

"_Where are you going?" Ray asked, and before Parry could do more than blink, Ray was pulling her in again. A little off balance, as their mouths came together again Parry stumbled forward a bit. Some unconscious part of her, afraid she was going to actually smack Ray against the door, fumbled out one hand and caught the wall._

_For a long moment after that, Parry was aware of nothing but the lips on hers, every bit as soft and perfect as she'd imagined._

_As it broke she found herself looking dumbly at Ray again, neither moving further away than an inch or two. _

Say something! Don't just stand here!

"_That…really just happened?" she said._

"_Pretty sure," Ray said, smiling. It was faint, but it was bright as the sun as far as Parry was concerned. _

"_Am I blushing?" she asked with an awkward chuckle. Ray looked at her with amused criticality._

"_Little bit. Looks good on you."_

"_I wasn't exactly planning on doing that…yet!" Parry said, quickly adding the 'yet' when she imagined she saw that smile start to fade a little. "I mean, I planned…I _wanted _to. I've wanted to, I mean, I just…didn't expect to do it right _now_. Like this. I wasn't sure you…I-I mean, I know you like me, but I wasn't sure y-you…in that _way_, I mean…"_

_Ray nodded a little, casting her eyes down slightly. "I'm sorry, I just…I _thought_ you did, but I didn't want to misread you. I do that sometimes…misread people…"_

_Parry could understand that. You have something as bad as what happened with Karen and her classmates blow up in your face after you try and trust someone, and it was bound to make you a bit skittish, make you doubt your perceptions of other people, and not just in the trust arena._

_Parry looked at her quietly a moment, and almost as if on cue, both of them started to grin, Ray looking back up at her._

"_So," Parry said. "This is good then, right?"_

"_Yeah," Ray said. "This is good."_

_Leaning up a little bit, Ray kissed her again. It was short, and sweet, but it was also perfect. Parry felt the faint brush of her hand over her cheek, and that was perfect too._

"_I'd better get," Ray said as she pulled away. "Early morning…again."_

"_Oh, yeah. Yeah, probably a good idea," Parry said. "I guess…I'll see you on patrol then."_

"_I'll be there," Ray said. The door slid open and she backed out of it, giving a bashful little grin. "Uh…good night then."_

"_Good night," Parry replied, grinning back. "Good night, Ray…"_

_Good night, Ray…_

Bleary smears of gray passed in front of her face as Parry slowly opened her eyes. Dazed, hurting, she could only stare bleakly at the gray and the occasional ruby of bright red that pattered over it, before reality started to make sense.

She was hanging face down, arms cranked painfully behind her. From the feel of it, her wrists were bound, her captors holding on to her arms. The gray passing in front of her was the silt of Little Ippy's surface. The red…from the throbbing heat in her face and mouth, she knew what that was.

Her head felt like it had been cracked like an egg then taped back together. Thought was slow, aching flashes of white in the overall pulsing crimson inside her skull.

Her first bleary instinct was to fight, but even as the urge passed through her she knew it would be futile. She was bound, wounded, and it was sure to shit they had taken her side arm. Fighting would do nothing and may just get her killed.

_I don't care_, she thought.

_You_ do _care_, Ray said. _You dying doesn't accomplish anything, Angel. You are a Confed SFT pilot. Think to your training._

_I don't care!_

_Do you think that's what I want?_ Ray asked. _You think I want you to die? Dying doesn't help me, Angel. Dying doesn't take back those bullets._

_I couldn't stop them. I couldn't save you._

_You cannot give up. Remember your training. What do you do? When taken prisoner, what do you do?_

_Watch. Listen. Give up nothing. Learn everything. Use any wise opportunity to escape._

Despite the pain, she continued to hang limp, tried to think. They were still on Little Ippy. There was a chance the Wing would break through. She could feel her emergency beacon still pulsing on her arm. It would lead the Wing right to her.

_They won't leave us behind,_ she thought. _They'll do anything they can to get to us._

Rho or even Charlie could arrive at any moment. Keeping that hope in her head she started to assess her injuries as best she could.

Her broken collar bone and the angle of her arm had turned that entire quadrant into a white hot burn of agony. The blood was dripping from her face in thick, syrupy threads. She was breathing from her mouth, and as she gingerly tried to switch to her nose she found it impossible.

When the Cat had hit her and knocked her out, he'd apparently broken her nose. Probing very gingerly with her tongue she found her lip was split too.

_Superficial. None life threatening. Put the pain down. Push it down and concentrate, _Ray said. _They took you prisoner, they didn't kill you. That means they want you alive for some reason. Interrogation, something to trade for something else, pleasant or not there is a _reason_. So long as they have that reason they will not kill you. Think about the dogfight. Wasn't that a bit odd?_

It _was_ odd. Firstly, that so many fighters had been there to begin with, in that completely non-strategic area, hitting them so hard.

_Four came from around this moon. Could they have been waiting for the next patrol? Were_ we _the reason they were here?_

Was it a coincidence that the activity the Fleet had seen in the Territories to make them go Code Orange, had escalated to Code Red almost the same time Rho was hit? Could they have hit the Front as a distraction? To insure the patrol Wing was isolated, to make sure they could do what they wanted to do?

Jon had cautioned the two of them to be careful, that they were being pulled. That one fighter had the disabled Ray dead to rights but he'd fired on her fighter in such a way so as to _not_ destroy the plane or kill its pilot.

_We weren't being pulled_, Angel thought. _We were being_ herded.

But why? For what reason? The Cats couldn't have known that Rho would be on that particular patrol on that particular day- the patrols and routes were randomly generated and only delivered to the WC a few minutes before deck muster. The Confed kept their routes and Wings randomized like that to prevent this exact thing from happening.

_Which means if this was a purposeful ambush, they weren't after our Wing in particular or anyone specific in it…they just wanted_ someone.

It explained why she was still alive. They wanted a Confed pilot. The ambush's purpose had been to take a Confed pilot, _any_ Confed pilot. Now they had what they wanted.

She had no way of knowing if she was right, of course. It could all be one massive coincidence, and the Cats were here on a very different purpose.

_If one Confed pilot alive is a good thing, two had to be better, right?_

_Not necessarily, Angel_, Ray replied. _Two is messier than one. _

_They just…they just fucking shot you. They just shot you like you were nothing-_

_Stop thinking about it_, Ray said gently. _It wasn't your fault, Parry._

Even through her throbbing headache, Parry knew that it wasn't really Ray she was talking too. Concussion or not, possible brain damage or no, she was cognizant enough to be aware of that. It was only her in her head, only her talking to herself.

Ray wasn't really there. She was back in the ruined pit of her torn up fighter, shot down like an animal, left behind like garbage.

She was dead.

The passing gray dirt in front of her face suddenly changed to corrugated metal. The two Cats carrying her strode up the ramp and into a battered cargo area that smelled like grease and metal. She was hefted up a bit, then dropped with little caution onto a hard metal bench. The impact made her woof out a pain-filled breath. Something metal prodded at her temple again as her hands were unfastened. Her arms were swung around, refastened, and latched onto a bolt set into the bench.

She was prodded again, harder. Realizing her captor knew she was awake she cracked her eyes open. The blank, Kilrathi helmet was hovering an inch in front of her face.

With another rasping growl, the Cat said something that may as well have been gibberish. Parry said nothing in reply, only glared at him.

A low sound that was too much like a chuckle to be anything else, and the beast straightened, striding away. The one that had chained her to the bench ignored her, taking up a position a few feet to her left. The idling hum of engines was growing into a roar, the bay swinging slightly as they took off.

There was still a chance, still time. Rho could still be coming.

_If they do they'll likely just shoot the Cats down_, she thought. _And me with them._

_No_, Ray said. _Your beacon is still working. Feel it? Rho will pick that up even through the hull. They'll know you're on board. That's a good thing. You'll lead them right to where the Cats are taking you._

_No. Jon won't take that chance. He_ shouldn't _take that chance. He can't risk the rest of the Wing, can't risk anyone else, not for one prisoner that's likely being hauled right into the Territories where a hundred other Cats are waiting. Better that he shoot down this ship and lose me, then lose me alive to the Cats, or lose all of them trying to get me back._

_Jon won't do that, Angel._

_Jon should. He _should_ do that. If he's any kind of a leader, he damn well _should_._

The bench she was laying on was cool against her swollen face, and her aching head wanted nothing more than to retreat. Unable to do anything else, Parry didn't fight it, sliding into unconsciousness again for a time.

It was impossible to say how much time had passed when she opened her eyes again. She was lying in the same position. All the same things hurt. The same guard (at least, it looked like the same guard) was standing in the same spot.

Her arm was still pulsing.

Shifting a little, she did her best to look around the room, see what she could see. Beyond some maglocked equipment, however, it looked like any other cargo bay. She could see the sealed door they'd come in through, and a smaller one to her left. The guard was armed not only with a pair of weapons on his hips, but something long and thin that looked like a baton in his hands.

Shifting her head, she looked down along the bench. The cuffs she was wearing were thick, heavy metal, fastened to a loop that looked just as solid. There was no way she could escape right here, right now…and nowhere to go even if she did somehow manage to slip free and subdue her guard.

Then the door opened, and three Cats came in.

Two were still in full gear with helmets on. One moved over to stand with her original guard, the other coming toward her with the final Cat. It was impossible to say for sure but her impression was that this one was the same soldier that had hit her in the face.

The other was in a uniform but not full combat gear. His face and head were bare.

Parry had seen pictures of the Kilrathi before but never one in the flesh. Much as humans had evolved from an ape-like ancestor, the Kilrathi had evolved from the feline. Their faces looked very similar to big jungle cats, with a bit of a rounder and higher skull to accommodate a sapient brain.

This one was a kind of buff or sandy color, with large green eyes. His mouth and chin were white, and along his head and the fringes of his cheek the fur grew almost similar to a lion's mane. He had it neatly trimmed. A dark, hairless scar marked part of his forehead. Unlike common Earth house cats, his pupils were round and not slit- something she saw very clearly as he drew near to where she was and looked down at her.

His feet were bare and were wide, padded, and powerful. He was wearing a uniform of the Kilrathi Fleet. It took her a moment to place his insignia and rank.

_Captain, I think…he's a captain?_

_He's the equivalent of what we would consider a captain_, Ray provided helpfully. _The word in the Kilrathi tongue is 'tom'ek'._

The alien crouched down and looked at her. Silently, she looked back.

"I am to understand you do not speak Kilrah," he said at last, in almost flawless English. He gestured to her arm and the insignia on it. "Unusual for the SFT isn't it? Special Forces are required to learn Kilrah are they not?"

"I'm new," she said thickly.

"Is that so? We have ourselves a trainee?"

She said nothing. Speaking the first time was a mistake. _Give nothing away. Learn everything._

His eyes studied her intently, then moved to her arm again. When he reached out she jolted back away from him but of course it did no good. He shifted the flap on her arm, then gripped hold of the beacon, tearing it away as he straightened.

He said something angrily to the man who had come in with him, crushing the beacon in his hand and then flinging it at the other fellow's feet. Glowering, he looked back at Parry and crouched again.

"If you were hoping that beacon would save you I am afraid I have disappointing news. We have crossed the buffer you call the 'Territories' and are now in Kilrathi space. There is no sign of any Confed pursuit. I am sorry, but you are on your own."

_Don't believe anything he says_, Ray said. _They want you isolated, despairing._

"My name is Tom'ek Chiv," he said. "Might I know your name?"

When she said nothing he shook his head. "Your name and rank, that is all I require. That is within Confed regulations, even for SFT is it not? Provide the enemy your name and rank only, and nothing else? How else are we to negotiate the terms of your release under the Prisoners of War treatise of 2187 if we don't even know the name of our prisoner?"

Ray snorted. _Don't listen to him. The Cats have broken every treaty we ever signed with them, _especially_ the POW treatise._

_I know, but we are told to give our name and rank._

_Just…be careful. Don't give him anything you don't have too. Not a word_.

Lifting her chin a little bit, she said, "Mazurek, Parry, 2nd Lieutenant Confed SFT."

She didn't even bother with her ident number, though she could have provided it.

"Angel," he said, looking at her shoulder again. "That is a human religious figure of some kind isn't it?"

He didn't seem to expect a response, and she didn't give one. He straightened.

"We will be landing soon. You will be escorted to holding. If you do not cooperate, you will be shot. If you do, you will receive medical treatment and food. You will find that if you are honest with me, I will be honest with you."

_He's trying to sound reasonable, earn your trust or respect_, Ray warned. _First rule when you get a prisoner- identify with them, make them think you're their buddy or at the very least, that you are reasonable and willing to listen. You can't trust him, Parry. Just remember that. No matter what they do or say, you cannot trust them. Never assume._

After a moment's pause, he turned and walked away. Parry laid her head down again.

* * *

Less than an hour later the blank-faced guard unfastened her and took her off the same cargo ramp they'd brought her up, flanked by the other two helmeted Cats. This time, she walked, though her head still felt heavy, thundering, floaty. Nausea kept rising in her throat, and the blood felt caked on her face.

_Three guards, just for me_, she thought.

_You're SFT, remember?_ Ray said. _They should have_ six.

The cargo bay apparently belonged to small fast-light transport that was now docked inside the bay of a much larger vessel-certainly no smaller than a prime ship. That it was as close as it was to the Territories was a bit concerning.

_Something this big could not get this close to even the Kilrathi side of the buffer without drawing immediate attention. So the Fleet either knows this ship is here and is watching it closely…or else we went through a jump gate. If we did that, we could be anywhere in the Empire. I could be a hundred thousand star systems away from _Houston.

She was escorted through a maze of a dozen corridors. At first she tried to memorize them but her headache made it all but impossible. Instead, she tried to do her best to memorize several of the symbols painted on various walls or doorways. She'd have to plot the best route back down the bay if she got the chance to get out of here. Stealing a fighter or a transport would be the only way to get back to Confed territory.

Then, they were walking into another area. This one smelled strongly of antiseptic and various medicines, giving away that it was an infirmary the moment the doors opened. Her escort pulled her wordlessly over to a bunk, fastened her cuffs to a ring at the edge of it, then turned and shouted something in another direction. A few minutes later, another figure appeared from what Parry took to be a small office, and headed their way.

Parry's whole body stiffened, her eyes narrowing. She literally heard the tendons in her jaw creak as they tightened.

The man walking toward her…was human.


	11. The Pain is Yours

The doctor was older than she was, perhaps in his late forties or even early fifties. He was thin but sinewy, giving the simultaneous impression of strength and frailty. His dark hair was receding and paling to gray, his nose was hawkish and made his already angular face look hatchet-like. His expression was serious.

Parry didn't care about any of that. The only thing she saw when she looked at him was _traitor_.

_He could be a prisoner too_, Ray said cautiously.

_Working freely in an infirmary?_

_Maybe they broke him. Maybe he's given up. Maybe they brainwashed him?_

_Maybe he's a goddamn Mandarin traitor._

_Yes, maybe that_, _too,_ Ray conceded reluctantly.

The doctor said little to nothing to her, and she said nothing to him. He pulled over a rolling table filled with various tools and then reached out. With a clinical motion he unzipped her uniform jacket and stripped it down. He could not take it off as he was prevented by her wrist shackles but he seemed only to want to get it out of the way. Gripping her chin he turned her head back and forth, peering with intent scrutiny at her face, then he gripped her shoulder. When he did that, manipulating her arm, she let out a low, muffled growl of pain.

Gathering some items from the tray he washed the blood and dirt off of her face with little care for her comfort. Once clean, he examined her nose again, then with an agonizing pinch, he seized it between the knuckles of his hand and wrenched it back into place.

By the barest of margins she managed not to holler.

The rest of the exam was little better. She was given nothing to help with the pain, though a needle was stabbed into her arm at one point- from the look of it, it was some kind of antibiotic- and at another juncture he drew blood. He stitched up the gash on her temple from where the pistol sites had dug in, and another on the bridge of her nose from the blow that had rendered her unconscious. She felt every white hot plunge of the needle.

He manipulated her shoulder again, felt along the collar bone. He said something to the guards, one of whom drew his weapon and held it to her head as the other unlocked her cuffs, freed her wounded arm, then cuffed the other one back into place. They used this opportunity to finish pulling off her jacket, leaving it in a heap on the floor. Then, the doctor just bound her arm to her side, pinning it helplessly at an angle across her chest and winding fabric around it and her torso until it was completely useless.

When he was finished, he just nodded to her guards and pushed the tray of instruments away with him. The Cats unshackled her other wrist again, looping the free cuff through her own belt loop at the back of her trousers and snapping it close.

With one hand bound at the small of her back and the other tied across her chest, she was marched out of the infirmary and down another maze of halls. Her headache had reduced some but not much. She was able to breathe through her nose now, but also not by much. She tried again to memorize the path they were taking.

They reached a door, and the guard opened it. Not bothering to remove the cuff, they just shoved her in and closed the door.

She knew a cell when she saw one. The space was smaller than her bunk back on Houston, nothing but hard metal walls, hard metal floor.

She stood there a long moment.

_Any second now I'll wake up back on _Houston, she thought.

_You know better, Angel_, Ray replied softly.

Letting out a breath, she flexed her good arm, muscles bulging as she strained. There was the sharp rip of fabric, the belt loop tearing free. Bringing her arm around, cuff now dangling loose, she folded her good arm around her tightly bound bad one, moved to the corner, and gingerly sat down.

Tears heated her eyes, prodded by fury, frustration, heartache. Brows knitting in shame she ducked her face down against her knees.

_They just shot you_, she thought. _They just shot you like you were nothing_, _and I couldn't stop them._

Ray was silent. After a long while, Parry fell asleep.

* * *

Despite the promise of food none came. Parry didn't know how long she was in that cell but time seemed to have vanished, or turned into a distorted and slow running version of itself. She slept on and off, waking only reluctantly, fighting it each time.

Being awake meant she had to think. Being awake meant the pain came back. Being awake was useless.

She was hungry, but that didn't matter. Being thirsty didn't matter either. All of it just added to the general discomfort and ache she felt everywhere, inside and out.

Then, sleep wasn't even an escape. Her mind refused to switch off, refused to retreat into that malaise.

_Look at me_, she thought. _Just a rat in a box_.

_You're not a rat, Angel_, Ray said.

_Stop talking to me. You're dead._

_So are you. _

_No, I_ wish _I were dead, but I'm not. Dead would be better_.

_You've given up. You_ are _dead. What are you doing, Parry?_

_I can't get out of here. I can't fix anything._

_You certainly can't if you just lay here like a lump. You can't if you just surrender._

_They killed you. _

_You wanted to be a pilot in the Confed before you even knew me, remember? You were born for this, Parry._

_I was born to fly a fighter! I'm not Merlin, for fuck's sake! My training isn't even done yet. I don't know where I am. I don't know how to get out of here. I don't even know _why _I'm here!_

_If you lay there then what happened to me means nothing. If you lay there, your_ life _means nothing. Parry, you are stronger than this. I know you are. You just have to think. You just have to try._

_I can't. I just…I can't._

_Yes, you_ can…_I believe in you. I believe in my Angel._

She jolted as the door opened, startled out of her half-dream, half-lunatic conversation with her dead wingman. One of her faceless guards came in, dragging her up to her feet. He seemed displeased but unsurprised that she had freed her arm. He left it free, instead wrenching it back and pinning it high with his own iron grip, steering her out and into the corridors again.

She felt clearer than before, her headache much reduced. She carefully watched their route.

She was taken to another level, brought into another room. This one was also mostly bare, and she was forced down to her knees in the middle of it, her cuff snapped to a loop set in the floor. She realized what was coming.

_They're going to torture me._

_You've trained for this, Parry. I'm right here, and I'm not leaving you._

_You're not really here. You're not really real._

_No, but you are. And you can do this. You're strong enough, Parry. _

Tom'ek Chiv entered, the human doctor on his heels, pushing an ominous looking cart. Parry lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed more than her chained position forced her to be.

"Well, 2nd Lt. Mazurek," Chiv said, moving over and crouching in front of her, careful to maintain a few feet of distance. "No _wonder_ you didn't want to talk with me. It seems we don't actually have a trainee now, do we?"

She didn't say anything, but confusion filled her. _What is he talking about?_

_Listen. Listen and learn_, Ray urged.

"We were able to get a verification on your Confed ident and your name pulled up some very interesting information through our Intelligence channels. Things SOTAC doesn't necessarily want us to know. Things about _you_. Your elite SFT training for one. The fact you are considered one of the deadliest combatants in the Confed, personally responsible for the quiet disappearance of several of our under cover contacts in your organization."

Parry went from confusion to utter bafflement. Was he trying some new psychological trick on her? He seemed deadly serious, but he was speaking utter nonsense.

_I'm just a trainee six months from my academy_, she thought. _What the hell is going on?_

"I must say, we were just hoping to get a Confed pilot we could press for information on some specific projects…and here we are, by pure happenstance, with _you_. The Angel of Death herself." He chuckled with malicious promise. "Brilliant."

He straightened, gesturing to the human doctor. "I do not expect you will answer my questions easily…I would, in fact, be disappointed if you did, and highly suspicious of any information you provided. Given your training you will be able to withstand a great deal of pain and…_persuasion_. Trust me when I say, the challenge is more than welcome, and I expect we shall be in each other's close, _close_ company for a _very_ long time. You will also find your guard detail has been upgraded given our new information. We are going to take no chances on you escaping or wreaking your particular havoc on this ship."

_So I _am_ on a ship, not a colony or a base_, she thought. The rest still made her head spin. Was the Confed feeding him false information? If so, to what end? If not, where was he getting this idea that she was some kind of elite super soldier? Was he making it up to fuck with her? If so, again…_why_? What was the point?

He gestured at the doctor and the man passed him one of those strange looking batons. Chiv went over and crouched in front of her again. He didn't bother explaining what the baton was, as he probably expected her to already know. It didn't look like much beyond a length of metal. Intentional or not, her lack of reaction to it seemed to impress him a bit…which didn't bode well for it just being a length of metal.

"Before we begin, I have a little ritual," he said, and actually gave a modest sort of smile. "A bit of my own little ceremony, I suppose."

He nodded to someone over her shoulder and one of her guards strode up. A solid hand swung around under her chin, forcing her head back, as another arm swung around her chest, holding her so tightly she could almost not breathe.

Chiv lifted a free hand, and bore his claws. They were only a few inches from her face, and looked fiercely sharp.

_He just wants to hurt you, he doesn't want to kill you_, Ray told her, concerned. _Focus, Parry. Pain is just pain. You can handle it. Just focus…and breathe._

Reaching over to her shoulder, she felt the first sharp stab as one claw cut into the side of her arm, drawing downward a few inches. It was like having a hot knife slicing over your skin. Warm slips of blood ran down to her fingers.

The claw slipped free, then dug in again at another spot. The heat flared to white hot once more.

_Pain. It's just pain. It's just pain. Put it down. Put it out. Focus. You give them nothing. You learn everything. Focus. It is pain but it is _your_ pain. You own it. _You_ own it, he doesn't._

She didn't learn until later exactly what he had done. Using only his claw, he painstakingly carved an image into her upper arm, a letter in Kilrah, a brand. Six almost elegantly sliced lines that formed the symbol for one word, dug deep enough and angry enough into the flesh to insure a scar.

_Property._

After he was finished, he straightened, and then showed her what the baton was for. Showed her what real pain truly was.

* * *

It went on for days- or what _felt_ like days-the systematic physical and psychological torture. He didn't even ask her any questions the first few times, just used the baton. It was a neurological direct-stimulation device that could induce all sorts of various agony directly into her nerves without actually marking her skin. A sharp press of it anywhere on bare flesh and he could make her feel as if a limb was being sawed free, as if her flesh was cooking right off her bones, as if she were being torn apart by wild dogs, or frozen alive.

Through it all, he promised to stop if she simply reasonably answered his questions…even though he had asked none. When he finally did start to ask them they were silly, almost nonsensical. 'What color is the sky on Earth?' 'What is your favorite food?' 'How often do you bathe?'

The answers were of course, totally pointless. He didn't really care, but as soon as he started asking them Shadow's voice seemed to take Ray's place in her head.

_If you are ever tortured they may ask you what sound like seemingly innocuous questions. You will tell yourself it is ok to answer these questions to make the pain stop. Do not. Answer nothing. Give them nothing. If you give in, if you answer even the most benign and innocuous question put to you, soon you will find yourself answering less benign ones, then important ones, then anything at all. It is a trap. Do not fall into it. Give them nothing._

It was hard. It was so unbelievably hard- harder than she'd ever imagined it would be. When her skin felt like it was being seared off her bones with acid and he asked her the name of her childhood pet, she knew if she answered the pain would stop. She _knew_ it. And she knew that no harm could come of him knowing that she had a cat when she was four and his name was Luka. What possible value could that information have other than to stop this unbelievable pain? What harm could come from speaking it?

Then she realized those thoughts were echoing his very words. He was getting into her head.

_No. I will give you nothing. You do not deserve to know Luka's name. You are not good enough to know Luka's name. I will die before I tell you Luka's name._

She was returned after every session to her cell, semi-conscious, sick…and having said nothing. She was given little to eat and felt little need for it. The pain made her feel withered and nauseous inside. What sleep she had was tormented with dreams of Ray being shot, of being torn apart, of realizing that she had told the Kilrathi everything. She would wake in cold sweats, staring wide eyed around her cell.

It was getting harder and harder to tell reality from her dreams. It was getting harder and harder to remember if she'd actually answered anything, or if she had only dreamed she did.

When she opened her eyes and saw Ray sitting on the other side of her cell, looking at her, she knew she was in real trouble. She knew Ray wasn't really there, but the woman looked as real and solid as anything else. She was pale, her eyes lost in dark smudges, blood tacked on the front of her flight jumpsuit, smeared from two bullet holes.

"I can't do this anymore," Parry told the hallucination weakly.

"You are stronger than you think, Angel," Ray replied kindly.

"I'm afraid. I don't know what they want. I don't know why they're doing this. I can't even answer him."

This last session, perhaps in frustration, Chiv had seemed actually incensed. He'd stopped asking her simple, innocuous questions and started in on more specific ones having to do with the Confed. He kept asking her about various projects she'd never heard of, supposed missions he seemed to believe she'd done that had taken place before she was even out of Academy. In the end, she'd been nearly unconscious before he'd given up and dumped her back here.

This session had been less about being determined not to say anything, and was more about not knowing how to answer him because she had no fucking idea what he was talking about to begin with.

"You'll get out of here, Parry," Ray said. "You're going to survive this, and get home again. I know you will."

The door suddenly beeped, and Parry felt her body jolt, her heart speeding a little.

_Not this soon. They've never come back again this soon! I can't take it again this soon!_

She realized she'd pushed herself into the corner, breathing like an animal caught in a trap, and tried to force herself to calm down again, to not shake as she looked toward the door.

The guards there were different. She couldn't put her finger on it at first, not until they got close enough to her to reach down, grab hold of her, and haul her to her feet.

All her other guards had been in full armor with helmets and no real distinguishing marks between them. They were a series of nameless and faceless duplicates.

These were wearing armor but it was of a different kind, and they had a strange golden symbol on their chests and helmets.

She was pulled to her feet. Held firmly between two of them, another two with weapons out following them, she was directed through hallways she had not yet been through. As they went, they passed more and more crew, several of which looked at her with varying degrees of surprise, interest, or disgust.

After walking for several minutes in silence, a form suddenly rounded the corner, incensed. Chiv closed in on them, stiff and visibly angry. He said something to the guards escorting her and one of them replied in an even, brusque tone. Chiv's expression went from furious to worried in the space of a single heartbeat. Stepping aside, he let them pass.

She imagined she could feel his gaze burrowing into her back long after they'd left him behind.

Finally, they entered a lift. The four strange guardsmen crowded around her so that she barely felt able to breathe, surrounding her in a sheer wall of muscle and armor plating. They stayed like this until the doors opened again, then drew her out.

All Parry could do was stare.

The room to which the lift opened was large and richly appointed. Soft, sea green carpet was underfoot, the walls not blank metal but paneled with wood and draped with cloth of varying greens and blues. Velvet backed chairs and lounges formed a sitting area to the right, and to the left more velvet chairs circled a highly polished table. Plates laden with food and decanters of drink were set out.

Parry, who'd had little more than a few mouthfuls and some rusty water since arriving, felt her stomach clench and her mouth flood with saliva at the smell- something which simultaneously made her nauseous and famished at the same time.

Three of the guards drifted back toward the lift door, one staying with her, holding tight to her arm as they halted in the middle of the room. On the far end, a door stood flanked with brightly colored and starkly primitive wall hangings. As if on cue, as they drew to a halt, the doors slid open.

The human doctor who had treated her on arrival and who had silently stood by during every torture session with Chiv entered the room. He was pushing a cart again, a covering draped over it. He wheeled it to one side.

On his heels, two more of the odd guards entered, taking up positions on either side of that door. As one, they and the one holding her all stiffened to attention.

A final figure entered.

Staring at it with bleary confusion, it took Parry's exhausted mind a moment to realize what she was looking at was a Kilrathi female. She was smaller than Chiv and the male guards she had seen so far, built lithely but no less powerfully for all that.

Like Chiv, she was barefoot, barehanded, and bareheaded. She was dressed in some kind of a silk uniform, a black tunic and trousers with a wide leather belt. On her right hip there was a pistol in a tooled holster. On her left, some kind of ceremonial knife or short sword with a decorative hilt dripping with tassels.

Across her chest, a bright purple sash draped from right shoulder to right hip. A few decorative brooches or medals lined it, some gleaming as if made of diamond, others of gold, or silver, or brass.

In color, the female was also black, her 'mane' long and elegantly sculpted around her face, a pattern of stark white stripes through her fur and across her nose giving her a tiger-like appearance. Her mouth, chin, and the insides of her ears were all white, as were the areas on her upper eyelids.

Her eyes themselves were a deep violet. In one ear, a stud earring that looked like diamond winked in the light.

She walked over, past the doctor and his cart, not drawing to a halt until she was only four or five feet away from Parry. A faint perfume, like roses and sage, drifted past Parry's nose as the stranger drew to a halt.

"Good morning, 2nd Lt. Mazurek," she said to Parry in elegant, only lightly accented English. "My name is Ara Chaz."


	12. Be a Hero, and Go Home

"_Everyone in the _Confed_ knows Ara Chaz," Ripley teased. "She's the head of the empire's intelligence forces. SOTAC considers her the most dangerous Cat in the known universe."_

Ray's words from back on the first day they had stood on their new flight deck, rang through her ears. The Emperor's eldest daughter, Baroness of the Outer Territories, Prime _Notek_ of the Empire's Central Intelligence, and Keeper of Her Father's Word, smiled slightly when Parry did nothing but stare.

"I do not blame you for not speaking," Ara said. "_'Give them nothing'_. It is well-worn mantra we teach our own soldiers and pilots as well."

Her eyes shifted to the guard holding Parry's arm. She nodded, then looked at the ones behind him, speaking in Kilrah. Parry could not see them, but heard movement and the lift doors opening. Turning, Ara spoke to the other guards near the door she had entered. These ones seemed more hesitant. When they paused, she repeated what she said in a firm, dangerous tone.

Giving some sort of salute, they turned and stepped out, leaving only Parry, the man holding her arm, Ara Chaz, and the silent human doctor within the room. Ara looked back at her.

"You do not have to speak to me," she said with surprising gentleness. "I simply want you to listen. You have no reason to do me this courtesy but I do ask it of you."

She nodded at the guard, who stepped to the side, walking to the table. Parry watched in astonishment as he left her alone, face to face with Ara, unbound save the bandage still winding her arm and chest.

_They think you're an elite soldier of some kind and they leave you loose in arm's length of one of the most powerful and prestigious members of their royal house?_ Ray sounded just as astonished as Parry felt. _Even if they were sure you were a trainee that's a dumbfuck thing to do._

_You said it yourself,_ Parry thought. _Ara Chaz is arguably the most dangerous Cat in the galaxy. She has a pistol and a…knife, or sword, or whatever that thing is. I'm weak, exhausted, and I have one arm tied to my chest. _

_You're also SFT, and at the very minimum, trapped and desperate, in front of a prime target. She would know perfectly well that you don't need a weapon in order to kill. Or both arms. Especially if she thinks you're some elite shadow agent._

_So she either is monumentally stupid…or she's not afraid of me._

_Royalty or not, I don't think she could head up Kilrathi Intelligence and last long if she were stupid_, Ray replied.

Weak and hurting or not, Parry was very strongly tempted to try something. Ara Chaz was only a few feet away. A quick lunge would reach her. If Parry moved fast enough, she may even be able to get the gun or the sword out of her belt before the Cat could stop her.

She knew that to do so would have only one result- her death. Even if she miraculously managed to kill Ara, the guard would take her down.

_At least I'd die doing something. At least I'd die fighting. _

She wasn't really sure what stopped her, in the end. Whether it was some real desire to survive and not give up, or whether it was simple hope for some answers- though she knew that whatever Ara told her would likely be a lie or half-truths intended only to manipulate.

Perhaps it was only cowardice.

_You are _not_ a coward, Angel,_ Ray said. _You learn nothing if you attack. You have to survive, have to get home. Otherwise, these Cats win._

Then her chance was over. The guard carried over one of the chairs and set it down beside her. Ara gave Parry what would be, on a human, a measuring look, then hummed as if she had come to some sort of interesting conclusion.

_Maybe waiting to see if I would attack was some kind of test. Did I pass, or fail?_

"Please have a seat, Lt. Mazurek," Ara said. Behind her, the human doctor began pushing his cart her direction. Ara gestured at him.

"This is Hector, and the guard's name is Niwol."

The doctor- Hector- looked at her with an almost sheepish expression, far removed from the clinical ice he'd shown before. She glared at him as he crouched by the chair and began to gingerly unwind the binding holding her arm. He nodded.

"I deserve the glare," he said, his voice an odd, light tenor. "I'm sorry for how I treated you before. It was necessary."

Ara turned and walked over to the table, picking up a decanter and using it to fill a glass. "This room is completely secured, and Hector and Niwol are both fully trusted. I know that means nothing to you at the moment, but as I said before…I understand if you do not speak. You need only listen."

She brought the glass over as Hector got the last of the bandage unwound and almost tenderly began to examine her shoulder. She held the glass out to Parry. When Parry did not reach for it Ara raised a brow.

"Poisoning you at this juncture would be ludicrous don't you think? If your death was what I wanted, I have a hundred ways at my disposal to do it right now. Please. I know you are dehydrated."

Parry licked her lips. She had never wanted water more in her life, but she did not reach out for it. Instead, she met Ara's eyes.

Her voice was broken and raspy, worn by the days of disuse and her thirst. "What _do_ you want?"

"Only for you to drink, and perhaps shortly to eat, and then to listen."

Parry's hand trembled a bit as it slowly extended and took the glass. It was cool in her hands, and the mere temperature on her slightly fevered skin felt like heaven. Her eyes went down to the glittering water.

Then, her arm extended again, and very slowly and deliberately, she poured the water onto the floor.

Ara gave her a faint, tired smile. "As you will," she said.

The guard carried over another chair and she sat down elegantly, face to face with Parry. "Lt. Mazurek, the last few days have been nightmarish for you. I apologize at its necessity. You may also have been confused by Chiv's words and actions. I had your sessions closely monitored-" here, she nodded at Hector, who was still looking her over, "- and I know our bit of…misinformation was passed along."

When Parry looked at her, Ara nodded. "Yes. I am the reason that Chiv believed you were an elite SFT operative. Part of the perks of being the head of Kilrathi Intelligence is being able to perpetuate some misdirection."

"Why?" Parry asked.

"Let me start at the beginning," Ara said. "Lt. Mazurek, it may surprise you to learn that, just as your people have their traitors, so too do we have ours. I am from a proud and stubborn people, to whom honor and power is everything- but not all the Kilrathi wanted this war. Not all support it. I had the fortune of being in a unique position- beloved daughter of the Emperor himself and above suspicion…and _strongly_ against this expansion of our Empire and this travesty of a war."

_Is she saying what I think she's saying?_ Parry wondered. _She's admitting to being a traitor to her own people? Her own father?_

_Never assume,_ Ray replied, but Parry wasn't quite sure if that meant she shouldn't assume that Ara was actually telling the truth…or she shouldn't assume that she was necessarily lying.

"It gives me no delight or satisfaction to say this, but for twenty years I have been working painstakingly to undermine the war effort. My position and titles give me singular advantage in that arena. I cannot do as much as I would like, of course, but misinformation, misreported numbers, subtle changes to records or gathered intel that shift particular defenses into less advantageous positions-what I have done is a large part of the reason that the Empire has not overrun your entire species and territories already. This war has cost far too many Kilrathi lives. It has taken over our entire economy, an entire generation of my people, our entire culture. Young men and women on both sides being slaughtered over and over and over again for needless ego, hollow power, empty honor. It is an atrocity that must _end._"

_She certainly seems intent_, Parry thought, her head spinning with everything the Cat was saying.

_You don't think she could be a superb actress_? Ray asked.

_She could but…why tell me all this? What's the point?_

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, voicing her thoughts aloud. "Even if I were to remotely entertain the notion of believing you, why tell me this? What do you gain?"

Ara smiled sadly, then looked at Hector.

"She really should eat and drink," he said, gathering his things and straightening. Ara gestured at the table.

"Please. It is for your own health and strength. You will need it."

Ara stood up and walked over to the table, taking one of the remaining seats there. The guard, Niwol, picked up the chair she'd been sitting in and returned it to its spot. Hector gathered up his tools and pushed his cart off toward the wall.

Parry was left sitting on her own. The bandage trapping her arm to her chest was gone, Hector having replaced it with a simple sling she could easily slip out of. She had no shackles on, no restraints whatsoever.

She looked toward the door a long moment, then back at the table, then at Ara.

_Parry_…Ray said nervously.

_I have to know_.

Parry got to her feet, walked with a weary, weaving gait to the table, and sat down. Her hand was shaking badly as she lifted a decanter and filled the glass in front of her plate. Setting it down again, she scooped the glass up with both hands and tipped it down her throat, taking greedy gulps. The cold liquid was like golden light itself.

"Be careful, don't be sick," Hector warned, but she barely heard him. Her stomach wobbled and lurched as she set the empty glass down, but she managed to keep the water in. It wasn't until her hand crept out and took what looked like some bread and fruit that Ara nodded, and began to speak again, taking her own selections of food.

"I am telling you this, Lt. Mazurek, because you deserve an explanation. Against your will you have become a tool of mine, and for that I must apologize."

"I don't understand."

"My Kilrathi strike team was ordered to capture a Confed pilot," she said. "You may have deduced that the ambush at the border that isolated your Wing- and the subsequent strike at the bulk of the Fleet- was a bit suspicious. Your conclusion is correct. They were there on purpose for the sole intent of capturing a single human prisoner and bringing them here."

Parry met her eyes across the table, a dark fury and anger simmering behind her own. A dry roll, clenched in her hand, wept crumbs onto her plate. "My wingman died," she said in a low voice. "She was downed on that moon and your soldiers just fucking shot her while she was wounded and trapped in the ruins of her fighter."

"I know," Ara said. "A regrettable loss, but this is what happens in a war- especially in a war driven by no motivation but power and greed. Your friend knew what her fate could be when she signed up to fight, and as much as I am sorry for her death, hers is a small sacrifice to make-"

Parry's hand slammed onto the table, making the dishes rattle. "_Not to me_!"

None of the three made any motion toward her at the sudden burst of violence, which should have surprised Parry again. She was simply too angry to notice, days' worth of pent up anger, frustration, fear, and grief blinding her.

"Not to you," Ara said kindly, with an understanding nod.

"You still have not told me _why_," Parry growled.

"I have been very careful, incredibly careful, in all of my dealings," Ara said. "I have managed to subtly undermine my own people for nearly two decades now without detection, but I knew from the beginning that no matter how clever I was, no matter how good, someday, somehow, my treachery would become known. Two weeks ago, events began to unfold outside of my power to control or misdirect them. The details are not important, but the results are inevitable. I ordered the ambush to capture a Confed pilot- ostensibly to get information about a new project on pilot reaction-time cybernetic implants being developed in secret by the Confed. The project and the implants are pure fantasy, of course- I simply needed the excuse. Once they had you, I took your reported identity and implanted false records that would appear to be straight from a mole in the Confed, painting you as an elite SFT operative rather than the pilot trainee you truly are. You, Lt. Mazurek, are my exit strategy."

"Exit strategy?"

"Yes. Verification has come just within the last hour. My brother, Surc- who is every bit as vicious and power hungry as our father-has in his hands right now, undeniable and damning evidence of my treachery. He is on his way to bring this information to my father in person. He intends to expose me. The consequences to me would be…not unexpected. I would be stripped of my position, possibly tortured, brought forward in front of all of Kilrah in disgrace, and publically executed. Nothing I didn't expect when I started on this path. However, I am far more concerned with other matters. As I said, Kilrathi are highly honorable creatures. I will fight against this war with every fiber of my being so long as I draw breath, even if I must betray my own father to do so- but if my treachery were to be revealed his honor and the honor of my entire family would be destroyed forever. I hate this war, I hate what he is doing, but he remains my father."

"And you expect me to believe I can stop your brother somehow?" Parry asked, scoffing.

"Indirectly perhaps, but yes," Ara said. "The only thing that would stop my brother from delivering his evidence would be my death. To Surc's mind, my treachery would have been punished, and it would make little sense to destroy his own family and honor by revealing it in light of that. The evidence would never come to light, my family's honor would remain intact, and Surc would have gotten what he wanted."

She plucked up her own glass and took a thoughtful sip of it, before setting it down again. Leaning forward a bit, she folded her hands in front of her and looked at Parry seriously.

"More, I have planned for my death for a very long time. I have laid a foundation, made connections, formed a subtle second shadow network within the Intelligence's own shadow network. At my death, those connections fall apart, creating a ripple effect that will hinder everything from mission data and departmental analysis to vital projects, supplies requisition, and even communication and direction of known Mandarin cells within Confed territory. It will not cripple the Empire, but it will wreak a good deal of havoc…hopefully giving your Confed an opportunity to strengthen its defenses or even regain some of the territory you have lost. I am also hoping that my death and the resultant chaos will give my father time to reflect on the exact cost of this war, perhaps reevaluate his priorities. I do not expect it, but…I do hope."

Ara shook her head, sitting back a little. "It is also a possibility that my father will use my death as a rallying cry and there will be a resurgence in hostilities toward your kind. It is a risk, I admit, but hopefully the collapse of my network will minimize the damage. If not…there is little I can do about it now. Things are in motion, fate is irrevocably falling upon us."

"So why am I here?" Parry heard herself ask. "Why did my wingman have to die?"

Ara looked at her. "You are the Angel of Death, Parry," she said, using her first name for the first time. "My death cannot be seen as accidental or suicidal- both would be dishonorable and might prompt Surc to sharing his evidence of my treachery. He'll know I have done it on purpose, however he will never expect that I would purposefully allow myself to be killed by an Ape. I have implanted the idea that you are an elite operative into minds like Chiv's, and into the network. Your escape that results in my death will not only make you a rallying point to your own people, but will make mine re-evaluate the strength and cunning of humans and the wisdom of this war. I need to die to weaken my side, but a new hero needs to be born to strengthen yours. I want to make _you_ that hero-the Confed pilot who destroyed the _Muhs OhDann_ and killed Ara Chaz herself, and then escaped to tell the tale."

The _Muhs OhDann_. That was where they were- a ship as famous as the cold and deadly Cat that commanded her, Ara Chaz. It was one of the main mobile hubs of the entire Kilrathi Intelligence Network.

"Why me?" Parry asked thickly.

Ara shrugged. "You happened to be the one we caught. There is no more to it than this. Had your wingman survived and was captured instead, I would be speaking of this to her now, instead of you."

_That's why they didn't bother binding you up_, Ray said. _That's why she didn't care that you were standing a foot or two away and could attack her at any moment. Her intention was always for you to kill her- the only thing in question was if you would let her explain why first, or not._

_I don't believe this. I_ can't _believe this. This is insane, Ray. This is totally insane!_

"I don't believe you," she said quietly.

"At this juncture, it is irrelevant," Ara said kindly. "You endured that torture with a determination and a will that is impressive. You _want_ to live, Parry. You have the drive, the desperation. You are an SFT trainee six months out of Academy, and yet you withstood pain and agony that would have had some seasoned agents of a decade begging to reveal all they knew. I am giving you an open door to leave this ship and go back home and to hinder this war, if not bring it to an outright end- and all you have to do is kill me. Are you saying you would not take that chance?"

"What if I didn't?" Parry asked. Inside, she could almost feel Ray cringe.

Ara sat back and shook her head. "As I said, at this juncture it is irrelevant. Hector will administer a powerful but temporary sedative that will render you unconscious. You will be put into a 'stolen' transport or fighter on autopilot and you will be sent away from this ship to a safe distance before it explodes. What records and data survive will show that you managed to escape, managed to hack into our self-destruct mechanism, and escape. You will be left with a single choice, Parry. You can pilot that ship back home if you can, or you can sit and wait to die."

"What makes you think, even if this all happens, even if you _aren't_ lying to me…what makes you think I will not tell all of this to the Confed, to my superiors?"

Ara spread her hands. "Do whatever you wish. You can tell them the whole story if you desire. It makes little difference. If the news gets back to my people my father and Surc will decry it as Confed propaganda meant to undermine our morale. My people and my father would believe it if _Surc_ tells them I am a traitor- especially with tangible evidence in his hands- but they will _never_ believe news leaked from the _Confed_ that paints me as such. It will simply be more Ape lies, underlining how deceptive and underhanded your kind is."

_She's got a good point_, Ray said.

_I thought I wasn't supposed to listen or believe anything she says?_

_I don't think in this instance it really matters, do you? If she's lying, you're hardly worse off than you are right now. If she's not, you get to go home a hero._

_I don't care about being a hero. I never cared about being a hero._

_I know…but you still get to go home._

_What's the point? You won't be there. _

_No, but Rafe, and Jason, and Connie, and Jon and everyone and everything else you've been fighting for will be. And they'll have a chance to actually survive this war. If she's right and the Empire backs off, if a _real _treaty can be signed…_

_And if not, they could push even harder. _

_If that happens, then at least you'll be there to do what you have always been meant to do- you will fight._

"I know this is difficult," Ara said, drawing her eyes again. "I know this is impossible to believe. Yes, I am using you for my own needs…but they are the needs of more than just myself. They're the needs of my people, _and_ yours. Yes, your friend died. And I would kill her over and over and over and over again if I thought it would bring an end to this war. So the question here is truly simple, Parry. Will you please kill me?

Parry picked up her glass, took a long swallow of water. Her hand was barely shaking at all as she set it back down, then met Ara Chaz's violet gaze.

"How do we do this?"


	13. It's All Up to You

The guard, Niwol, pulled a data post from his belt as Hector cleared a spot on the table in front of her. Wordlessly, Niwol unrolled the post and laid it in front of her. Images, schematics, hovered on the paper-thin membrane.

"We do it carefully," Ara said, "And it will not be easy. We will provide you everything you need to know to do what is necessary and escape this ship, but it will still be up to you to escape it. I want you to survive, but if you die in the process, my plans still work…your side just has a martyr instead of a hero."

"Why so concerned about me and my side?" Parry asked bitterly.

"I have fought this war my entire adult life," Ara said. "Kilrathi propaganda would have us believe that humans are merely disgusting, smelly, filthy hairless Apes- purely anthropocentric, barbaric, and weasely- lacking any semblance of honor and willing to sell out their own for personal gain. The existence of the Mandarins seems to support this. I, however, know better. You are not much different than we are, Parry. I have seen astounding acts of nobility among humans, an incredible passion and drive. I want no more deaths, on your side as well as ours. For this plan to actually end the war it needs not only my side weakened, but yours strengthened. A martyr will strengthen it a bit, but a living hero to rally around will do far more toward that end than a ghost."

She gestured at the data post. "You will take this with you, having…_stolen_ it from me in the course of my assassination," she continued. "It is not as much as I would like to offer but giving you too much more would be incredibly suspicious. I can sell the idea that you are an elite human operative, but I cannot literally make you superhuman. Managing to snag a single data post with some sensitive intel is one thing…but no Intelligence operative-and certainly not the Prime Notek-would keep a data post containing a wide variety of unrelated sensitive information lying about."

"What is it?" Parry asked, looking at the images and information, all of which was written in Kilrah-and also very likely written in code.

"Design schematics for some of our outposts along the Kilrah side of the buffer you call the Territories. They will show the Confed exactly where they are and how to hit them. Doing so will bring down communications along our end of the front for a short while. Combine that with the loss of the _Muhs OhDann_ and myself, it will very likely spark a retreat along this particular front, even if a temporary one-giving your First Fleet an opportunity to expand its side of the Territories and firm its foothold here even more securely."

Parry carefully reached out and rolled the post up, folded it into a rectangle, and tucked it into one of the pockets on her trousers.

_It could also be a trap to lure our fighters in to further ambushes_, Ray warned her.

_I know, but Bastille and SOTAC are not idiots. It'll be up to them and the code breakers to decide if it's worth the risk._

"What of the rest of it?" Parry asked.

"Hector and Niwol will help you," Ara said. "Once you are escorted out of this room Niwol will take you toward your cellblock. At a certain juncture, he will free you and provide you with a weapon. He will provide you with the path you must take. Then, you will kill him."

Parry stiffened, looking at the blank-faced guard. "He's just…ok with dying?"

"He is also a traitor," Ara said. "This ship is going to explode, Parry. Everyone on it is going to die, including Hector and Niwol. They have been two of my closest allies for many years, and they have long ago accepted their fate, as have I. We do this to end this war and preserve both our peoples."

Parry said nothing, and after a moment, she weakly nodded. Ara continued.

"Follow the path he gives you," she said. "I will do my best from here to keep the corridors along your route clear of personnel but if you encounter someone, kill them immediately. Do not let anyone stop you or you _will_ die with the rest of us. At the end of your path you will be at the door of a sub hub section of the ship's engine regulation systems. I have already inserted a program that will activate the ship's self-destruct mechanism from my console here in this room, however, I need you to input a command code down there. This program will make it appear as if you hacked into the self-destruct mechanism yourself from that console location. I do not expect any record of this will survive but if it _does,_ there can be no suspicion drawn that I had any hand in it. It will appear as if it was all your doing. From my end, it will look like I received an alert that notified me of the destruct's activation, and that I attempted very quickly to disarm it again, while simultaneously raising the alarm. Once you put in that code on your end, you will have only a matter of seconds before the alarms go off. Things at that point will get far more dangerous."

She sat back a little, still speaking seriously. "You will exit the door immediately. There will be a maintenance hatch to your right, set into the floor. It will be unlocked- part of the same 'hacking' that set off the destruct. You will descend a ladder two decks as quickly as you can- you will have only a few minutes from the moment the alarms sound until this ship explodes. You will emerge into a maintenance area of one of the launch decks. Kill anyone that may see you or attempt to stop you, get into any of the active transports or fighters as you can reach, and get the hell off this ship. Do _anything_ you need to, _anything_ you have to, to get as much distance between you and this vessel as possible.

"Our fighters may launch after you. If they do it is up to you to take them down or outrun them if you can. If things go well, the _Muhs OhDann_ will explode, killing all aboard including me. The fighters will be thrown into confusion, and you will be able to escape."

"If I manage all that," Parry asked quietly, "How do I get home?"

"You are not far from the Territories," she said. "SOTAC is aware that the _Muhs OhDann_ is here. Ostensibly, we are in the position we are based on falsified reports that the Confed has set up advanced, high-tech listening posts on our side of the Territories in conjunction with the fake project I mentioned before, the cover under which we captured you in the first place. The Confed has been in communication with us insisting that these projects and reports are not accurate, but of course we have not listened to them. Accusations have been flying across the Territories for days now, between us and SOTAC, and between our various commands. As I said, being head of Kilrathi Intelligence helps in a lot of misdirection. You should be able to orient your location once you have left this ship- however, it will take you some time to get back to your own side of the Territories."

"I'll be picked up by the First Fleet and SOTAC," she said. "They'll see me coming before I'm halfway across the Territories."

"Yes, and they'll see a Kilrathi," Ara said. "You should be able to send out a communication with your proper idents. If you cannot, so long as you do not make the stupid mistake of going weapons' live against your own people you should be fine. They'll have received that the _Muhs OhDann_ has been destroyed, will correctly link you to this ship, and will want you for questioning. A single fighter, stranded out on its own, that shows no hostilities- they will capture it if they can."

Ara stood up. "Everything that happens after that alarm goes off, Parry, is up to you. Live if you can. Get home if you can. If not…then I suppose we are both just further casualties of this war."

_And I'll get to see Ray again._

_Don't you dare,_ Ray protested. _Don't you dare die just because of me. You fight, or when you get here I'll kick your ass all over heaven, do you hear me?_

Parry felt a bitter chuckle rise in her at that, and pushed it down again. She was still arguing with herself, she knew. There was no life after this one, no evidence of such. Ray was gone, and even if Parry died, she still wouldn't see her again. Things would just be over.

_I still don't know if I believe her_, she thought.

_It's a fairly elaborate and weird trap if she's lying_, Ray told her. _Either way, you gotta chance it don't you think? If she's telling the truth, then she's right…this could end this war, or at least help even it out again. We're losing, Parry. You know it, I know it, every human being knows it. It might take another five or ten years but in the end, the Cats win and we all die. This could be our one chance to give us a fighting chance again._

Truth or not, Parry had to try.

Wordlessly, she got to her feet. Ara nodded at Niwol, who slipped Parry's arm out of her sling and cuffed her hands together. She noticed he took careful care of her wounded arm, letting her do most of the moving and not wrenching it cruelly.

Hector came over, slipping something out of his pocket and showing it to her. It was an old paper photograph, well worn. The image was barely visible any more, but it showed him much younger, with a woman and a pair of small boys.

"I wrote an address on the back," he said. "If you get back home, please send this there."

She gave him a stiff nod, and he folded it back up again, sliding it into her pocket next to the data post.

Niwol took her arm and lead her toward the lift. As they stepped inside and turned around, she could see Ara standing with Hector by the table. The female Kilrathi said nothing, only nodded slightly.

Parry did not nod back.

* * *

As they stepped off the lift into the corridor Parry began to worry. The other three guards, the ones Ara had dismissed, were waiting. Wordlessly, like silent robots, one took her other arm, and the other two fell in behind them as they headed back through the ship corridors.

_Ara didn't mention anything about this. It was supposed to be just me and Niwol._

There was nothing she could do, except hope that Niwol had prepared for this or had known it was coming.

They walked in silence, through several hallways and corridors. Then, as they entered another section, Niwol suddenly gave her arm a squeeze. A breath later, he spoke a single word- the only word he had said thus far, and the only word she would ever hear from him.

"Down."

Parry dropped down to her knees mid-stride, the motion awkwardly pulling the other guard holding her arm off balance. Niwol had let her go immediately after squeezing, so was not similarly jolted. In the same motion she dropped, he pulled out his side arm and shot the second guard over her head.

His silenced pistol sounded like a low, almost purring cough. Turning, he smoothly shot one of the second guards through the dark faceplate.

The third had time to react. His shot was louder, tearing into Niwol's shoulder pad as he tried to duck out of the way. Parry awkwardly lurched to her feet as Niwol lunged into the guard, pushing his rifle aside, and digging his pistol against the neck joint of his armor. Another purring cough, and the final guard slumped bonelessly to the ground. Niwol let him drop.

Turning back toward her, he stepped over the second dead guard and unlocked her cuffs, freeing her arms. Reaching into his pouch he lifted a small eye projector and handed it to her. She extended the band, then slipped it on. The tiny projector hung in front of her left eye, and immediately she could see the highlighted route she was meant to take.

Then, Niwol showed her the pistol in his hand, indicating the safety and trigger mechanism, then handed it to her. Drawing a short blade from the small of his back he slid it firmly into her belt.

She looked at him, pistol in hand, then slowly lifted it to aim at his faceplate. He did nothing but stand there, hands out a little. Parry paused.

Even if she shot him directly in the faceplate she wasn't sure that would kill him- or kill him quickly. The last thing she wanted to do was leave him alive in agony- no creature deserved that.

As if realizing her dilemma, he reached out. His hands folded around hers, and he lifted them, directing the gun until it was pressed against the neck joint of his own armor. He tilted his head back, making sure the muzzle was seated firmly. Then he nodded, giving her hands a momentary and oddly affectionate pat, before dropping them again.

Parry grit her teeth, nodded back, and pulled the trigger. Niwol slumped to the ground, dead.

She'd never killed anyone before- at least, not like this. She'd taken out a pair of those johnnies during the dog fight but that was detached, clinical. It was easy to compartmentalize. You knew you were killing a living thing when you did so but all you saw was a ship, an object, and you were saving lives in the process, including your own.

This was different. Niwol wasn't fighting her, wasn't trying to kill her. He had, in fact, just killed three of his own kind _for_ her, and then gave his own life without a struggle. Cat or not, Parry felt the impact of that shot as if she had been the one the pistol was aimed at. For a moment, she couldn't breathe, her throat narrowing and her chest tightening until she was gasping for air. Her back and shoulders came up against the wall, and she nearly dropped the pistol.

It was only with an effort, only knowing if she stood here she would soon be dead too, that she got herself under control again. Her hand tightened on the weapon, she straightened from the wall, and she tried to clear her head. The flashing indicators on the eye projector kept blinking, showing arrows along the floor that pointed to where she needed to go.

Leaving the arm sling dangling across her back, ignoring the petty ache of her shoulder, she steeled herself, and then followed after them.

* * *

Parry reached the sub hub without incident, the halls she had to pass through completely deserted. So far, it seemed Ara was keeping her word.

She followed the path of arrows displayed by her projector for what seemed like hours, but surely had to only be a few minutes. When she crossed into the sub hub itself and neared the lone computer console, the arrows disappeared and a set of directions appeared. Tucking the pistol into the front of her pants, she followed the English directions that allowed her to activate the Kilrathi labelled commands and selected the ones she wanted. Then, a twelve digit alphanumeric code appeared, flashing on the projector. The letters were all Kilrathi, of course. She input eleven of those digits with almost glacial care. Her finger hovered over the last one.

_I press this, and the destruct is active_, she thought. _I press this, the alarms go off. I won't have much time to get off the ship._

The sound of her own tense breathing, her own rapid heartbeat, filled the small area.

_Ray, are you there?_ She thought. _Ray?_

But she wasn't. And of course, she never had been. It had only been her way of maintaining her sanity, of dealing with her grief. Parry had been on her own since she'd been picked up on that moon. 'Ray' couldn't answer unless Parry _made_ her answer, and her words would be her own anyway. Now was not the time to indulge in a distraction. She had to step up here. She had to focus.

She had to _live_.

She pressed the final command. Immediately, she turned back toward the door, drawing her pistol again, even as the first alerts filled the air.

Rushing out of the room she hurried quickly to the hatch. No one was in sight but that wouldn't last long. Hauling open the hatch she slipped down onto the ladder, tucking the pistol away again and hauling the hatch down closed.

Half climbing, half sliding, she descended the ladder into the pitch dark. The projector piece wasn't helping anymore and its half-seen, bobbing shape was distracting. Pausing only a second she ripped it off, shoved it into her pocket, and kept on.

She could hear the alarms even here, a muffled whine that put every nerve in her body on edge. A distant voice seemed to be shouting orders but she could not make out words- not that it mattered, as it was guaranteed to be in Kilrah anyway.

Down, down, and down she went, the pain in her shoulder growing louder as she climbed, sending lances of white lightning to her fingertips.

Then, her boots came to solid ground. Releasing the ladder she fumbled around, finding the other hatchway. Straining, her arm on fire, she barely managed to release it, and then swing it open. Yanking out the pistol she hurried through.

She was in a maintenance room just as Ara had indicated. It was not much different than the shock jockeys area on her launch deck back home.

It also was not empty.

Two Cats spun toward her, surprised at the opening of the hatch. Neither looked like soldiers. Parry couldn't allow herself a breath of hesitation. Her time was running out, and if she even thought about it she wasn't going to be able to shoot them.

The pistol fired twice with its now loathsome strange purr. The first Cat's chest popped in a rush of red and he collapsed, even as he was still reacting to her sudden appearance. The second had time to turn away and reach for something- an alarm button, or a tool sitting on the work bench, or maybe a side-arm- before Parry's bullet caught it high on the back, at the spot where shoulders met neck.

The smell of blood hit her, and even as she started forward a furious cramp struck her stomach. Stumbling, she vomited forcefully onto the floor, the water and bit of food she'd managed to eat quickly escaping.

Swiping her bad arm haphazardly over her mouth, she stepped over the mess, quickly locating an active hangar on the hovering display near the tool bench.

She would have to run past three other hangars to get to the one that was in active status. She didn't pause to look into them, to see if any other Cats were lurking in them. She had no idea how much time was left before the ship exploded but she knew it couldn't be much. If she wasn't in a ship and out of the blast radius by the time it went up then it was all over.

She passed the first two hangars without incident, and was picking up speed toward her destination when a figure suddenly stepped out of the third one. Something dug into her chest, and pain erupted through her. It was so sudden and fierce that she had no recollection of falling. One moment she was running, and then she was on the ground. She hauled in a gasping breath, tried to weakly get back to her feet. A half seen form stepped closer to her, jabbed at her again, and the pain renewed. A scream escaped from her throat unbidden. As the pain began to dull down again, she heard an all too familiar voice.

"As soon as I heard the alarms I knew it was you, and I knew that there was only one place for you to go if you hoped to escape."

Chiv. It was Chiv, and he had his goddamn baton with him.

Heaving for breath, she managed to get weakly onto her back. She'd dropped the pistol when he'd hit her the first time, and she didn't know where it had gone. Her eyes focused on him as he smirked down at her, taking a step forward as she edged back.

He said nothing more to her, his smile saying it all. Nothing but her death was behind that grin. The baton sparked with fiery promise as his muscles tensed.

Then, he lunged.


	14. I'm Home

Chiv threw his whole body weight behind the lunge, the long baton in his hands aimed directly at her chest, or neck. If it hit with his three hundredish pounds behind it, it would not only light her nerves up again, it would likely crush her sternum, or her windpipe, if not literally skewer her.

Her reaction was reflexive. As the baton plunged down she rolled toward it, hand catching the side of the baton and shoving it off target. Her arm cramped viciously as the baton affected its nerves, but the end of it hit the floor instead of her, and the motion pushed Chiv off balance. Still gripping the baton, she wrenched it the other way, tearing it out of his hands.

She lost her grip on the baton itself almost immediately, her affected arm unable to retain its hold with the pain and muscle spasms, and it clattered away over the floor. She pushed up to her feet at the same time Chiv recovered from his stumble.

Somehow, she found the handle of the dagger that Niwol had put into her belt in her hand. Chiv surged forward to meet her with a roar, and at the same time she drove in to meet _him_, riding on nothing but frantic adrenaline and the hand to hand training that had been impressed into her day after day by Malibu and Shadow.

She felt the dagger sink into something as they came together. She wasn't sure if it was his gut or his side but it was definitely flesh. Blood welled hot over her hand. She didn't have the leverage to draw it out and stab again, and ended up just hanging on to it desperately, pressing or twisting it whenever she was able to.

Her other arm, the one with the broken shoulder, was too busy trying to keep Chiv's mouth back. Evolved or not, the Kilrathi were big Cats, and they had a lot of very large teeth that apparently Chiv was not afraid to use. One fang skidded over her cheek and she pressed harder, the struggling pair swinging around in a circle.

Pain was ripping into her back and sides. Chiv was tearing his claws over her back in fiery sweeps, and trying to use his advantage of weight to force her off her feet. He tried to swing one of his hands up toward her face but the angle was awkward, and she swung them around in another circle to help avoid it, giving the dagger a further sharp twist.

He had the advantage of teeth, claws, and weight, but Parry had the singular drive of desperation and fear.

His feet caught on something as they started around in a circle again- it was possible he'd stepped on the baton and it had rolled underfoot. Whatever the reason, he suddenly stumbled, his balance shifting. Parry immediately pressed the advantage, and the pair slammed against the wall hard enough that his head striking the metal gave a resounding _crack!_

He was dazed for a brief moment, and her new leverage gave her the chance to rip the dagger out of his body, and then jab it back in, this time aimed directly at his diaphragm. He gave a coughing, whining snarl as it sank in, and tried to bite her again. His claws were now in her shoulders and biceps as he gripped her arms, trying to throw her back.

If he succeeded, she knew she was dead, all possible advantage lost. She twisted the dagger again and pressed on his throat with her forearm, cutting off his air.

Now his motions were less anger and more frantic. His eyes bulged and his hands pawed over her arms, raking gash after gash across them. Parry pressed harder, and harder. Her numb fingers slipped off the hilt of the dagger and that hand shot up to join her arm. She shifted her grip, now throttling him with both thumbs pressed hard into his windpipe.

Her teeth were bare almost in mimic of his, her breath coming in distant, panting, whooping gasps. Weakening moment by moment from the lack of air and blood loss, Chiv's hands fumbled from her arms and went instead to the wrists gripping his throat, attempting to loosen them. He kept trying to throw his hips forward, to push her back just far enough he could get his legs into play too, _anything_ to return the advantage to his court. Parry's boots dug in hard and every fiber of her body felt knotted into stone as she resisted each attempt.

She was screaming furiously into his face by this point. She was barely aware she was doing it, that within the screams were words, curses, insults- the verbal vomit of furious heartbreak and wild retribution.

Gagging, eyes bulging, he was growing weaker and weaker, starting to lose consciousness. His hands trembled from around her wrists, his thumbs digging their claws into the fleshy pads of her palms. She held on even tighter, dropping to her knees and following him down as he started to collapse, his hands falling free, his body going limp.

Her fingers felt locked, and it took her a moment to loosen them. Arms shaking, she fumbled down, found the dagger still embedded in his gut, and tore it out, plunging it into his neck with almost the same motion.

She sat there, straddling the dead Kilrathi who had tortured her for days, covered in both his and her blood and shaking madly. She was no longer shouting, but her throat felt like it was on fire and the air that was moving through it with her panting gasps seemed thin and lit.

Shifting, she half crawled off Chiv, feeling suddenly as weak as a newborn. Part of her mind was still shouting at her, telling her she had to go, that the self-destruct was going to go off at any moment. The rest of her didn't care. She just wanted to lie down. Death, at this moment, was unimportant. In fact, the thought of it was something of a relief.

Her hand came down on the metal floor and immediately slipped, nearly spilling her right onto her face. Catching herself, she half sat and looked at her palm.

Both her hands were covered in blood, as if she had dipped them into full buckets of the stuff. The gashes Chiv had made to her palms were welling thickly. On her left hand, however, the gash had torn down over her wrist. Blood was flooding down far more thickly there.

Seeing it pouring, her survival instinct kicked in again. She clamped her free hand over the wound, staggered to her feet. Heat ran down her back like trickles of warm rain. Part of her shirt dangled from her waist, the cloth shredded in a dozen different places thanks to Chiv's claws. Gripping the dangling strip, she tore it off, then tied it shakily around her wrist, trying to stop the blood flow.

Fumbling, she found the sling that had been hanging over her shoulder was also still there, and mostly intact. Pulling it off she also bound that around her wrist. Not bothering to look at Chiv again, she limped weakly away, toward the final hangar.

The ship there wasn't a fighter, but looked like a small mobile communications relay that could be deployed to battle zones to help prevent comm delays between fighter Wings. That it was flight ready and had a pit was all she cared about.

Climbing wearily up its side, she feared she might fall more than once. Her grip was shaky already, and the blood coating her didn't help. Somehow, she made it up, nearly falling into the pit.

She had no flight suit on, no helmet, so locking in was pointless. Wearily she pulled the harness over her shoulders and then stared blankly at the flight controls.

They were all in Kilrathi, of course, and the layout and displays were all different than she was used too.

_I can't do it, Ray_, she thought, head slumping to the side of the pit. _I can't do it_.

_You can_, Ray replied gently. _I know that you can, Angel_.

_I can't. There's no time. I just want to sleep_-

_C'mon soldier. You can do this. We don't need sleep, remember? It's just a bad habit we've fallen into. Find the hatch controls. Come on._

Parry's hand fumbled out and she lifted her head. Somehow, she found the hatch controls and the pit closed up.

_There you go. Now the engine idle. C'mon. They may be in a different place but you'll know it when you see it. Engines._

Almost as if moving in a dream, Parry groped out and found switches, found the pedals, found the stick. She heard the engines roaring up behind her. The hangar was already open onto the flight deck.

_I won't be able to open the launch doors_, she thought, even as she slowly taxied out onto the deck. In front of her, the big gray reinforced doors were a solid wall. Even if the ship she had were armed, a full set of Grizzlies would do nothing to open them and the explosions would all be trapped within the deck- destroying her and any other unfortunate sap that happened to be inside.

Then, miraculously, the lights switched from red to green, and the doors began to open.

Of course, Ara had thought of this too. With the ship about to go up it would be standard procedure to open all flight decks- allowing evac and launch of fighters.

Which meant Parry might have more time than she thought she did. Though it felt like hours had passed in the fight with Chiv alone, clearly that wasn't the case.

_No, you have less time than you think_, Ray told her. _Ara would open the doors to make sure that you could launch under the pretense of allowing for evac- but she doesn't really want anyone else getting out in time. She'd delay opening the flight decks until the last possible moment, and only ships in ready launch with actual pilots already inside them will have time to get out. You have to go. _Now_. _

The stars beyond the launch door seemed to wobble and swirl, leaving thin contrails of light in her vision. Her arm seemed a million miles away as she switched from taxi idle to full engines. Immediately the ship began to roar toward those distant stars- she hadn't even located the choke to stop them.

The little comm ship belted out of the flight deck and into open space. Parry didn't even bother to correct her course. If fighters or other hostiles came out after her, she was done. She couldn't fight them. She had no weapons on this ship, and even if she _did_, the stars had gone from tiny smears to thick wobbling drunk orbs, and the controls of the ship were a million miles away.

She slumped to the side in a slow dream. The side of the pit coming up against her head felt as soft as a pillow. Her eyes drifted shut.

_Angel…_Ray's voice was echoing and distant. Parry seemed to be falling into it.

_Angel…_

…_come home, Angel…_

* * *

_{Bogey 3296 identify yourself.}_

Everything felt heavy and thick and hot. The voice was an irritated little wasp dancing around her ear, shattering the obsidian peace she had found.

_{Bogey 3296, this is Confed First Fleet security control. We have you on our scope. Identify yourself.}_

Angel tried to open her eyes but it was too hard. As darkness pulled her down again, the fading voice followed her.

_{Bogey 3296, we have armed fighters heading to intercept your course. If you do not identify yourself they will engage hostilities…}_

Sleep.

* * *

When Parry woke up again everything around her was white and silver. A gleaming play of light danced over her eyes, and she watched it unconcerned for an unknown length of time before it seemed to come into focus. It was the edge of some kind of railing or pipe, reflecting winks of bright flourescents.

In an endless fuzz, she just watched it, watched how the light danced and flickered against the metal. Eventually, she became aware of other things, other sounds, going on around her.

Soft voices. The smell of antiseptic and cotton. A low, almost pleasant beep. Softness under her cheek.

Then gray. She turned her gaze onto the gray a moment, trying to puzzle it out. It was cloth. Fine cloth. Cloth on a person.

"Lt. Mazurek? Can you hear me, Lt. Mazurek?"

The gentle, feminine voice drew her eyes upward. The woman wearing the gray looked down at her with a smile.

"Good morning, Lt. Mazurek. How are you feeling?"

It seemed to take forever for her lips to cooperate, and when they did, her voice seemed tiny and sandpapered. "Fuzzy…"

"That's to be expected, it's the pain medication," the woman said. "Do you know where you are, Lieutenant?"

"No…"

"I am authorized to tell you that you are in the infirmary on the _TCP Houston_. You have been here for two days."

"_Houston…_"

Thought seemed to sharpen abruptly, memory returning. She looked up at woman she now recognized as wearing a Confed medic's uniform, looked around the small private infirmary room. _Houston_. Was she really back on _Houston?_

Was she home?

"Yes," the medic said, then smiled. "Welcome home, Lieutenant."

"How did-"

The nurse held up her hand. "I am not allowed to answer any questions, I'm sorry," she said. "Now that you are awake and communicative you will be debriefed. I have already notified General Bastille. I am also limited in what I can tell you or ask you myself. You have been treated for malnutrition, blood loss, and dehydration. You sustained several lacerations, some of them incredibly deep. All have been cleaned up and sutured, however the scars will be impressive. Most of these wounds were on your back and arms, and if it weren't for the pain medication you are on right now, you would be incredibly uncomfortable. We also treated a badly broken collar bone- your arm will be immobile in that cast for several more days."

Parry blankly looked down along her body. Her wounded arm was indeed bound up in a plastic cast which looked like a thin honeycomb, keeping her arm and shoulder immobile. An IV was affixed to the crook of her other arm, and both her hands and wrists were wound with gauze and sealed with protective coverings.

"Now that you are awake you can take in some solid food," the medic said. "I'll have a tray brought. Once you've eaten, if you feel strong enough, I'll allow the debrief."

"Can you just tell me if-"

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I can really tell you nothing, not until I'm authorized. Try and rest. I'll get that tray here for you soon."

The medic gave her a light smile, then turned and walked out of the room. Parry glanced around again. She still felt incredibly tired, and it was hard to keep her eyes open, but her thoughts were swirling in the malaise of the medications.

_Home. Did I really made it home? Or is this some kind of elaborate Cat trick?_

She thought back as best she could. She remembered the fight with Chiv only too well. It seemed seared into her brain. She remembered getting into the Kilrathi ship- after that, things were only snatches, vague impressions. She didn't think she'd managed to plot any course or had even been able to triangulate her own position. She must have had the good fortune of being aimed right for the Territories with no hazards in her path- or else the Confed had crossed into the Territories after the _Muhs OhDann_ exploded, and picked her up drifting along the border.

The medic's mention of confidentiality and debrief was to be expected. She was an escaped POW. Only certain people would be authorized to talk to her or debrief her about what had occurred. It was standard procedure, in case she'd learned any sensitive information on her capture that might be classified, or in case her incarceration had left her brainwashed and some kind of double agent. More, it may be that the Cats had released an imposter hoping to implant a mole under their control, or that she had _always_ been a mole and the 'capture' was a way for her to deliver her information to the Cats and then return to gather more.

The swirling thoughts only made her more exhausted, and she dozed off again.

She woke to a gentle touch on her arm, the medic waking her so she could eat. The food was a bit better than the normal chowline fare, but purposefully bland and easily digested. Hungry as she suddenly was, only a few mouthfuls was enough to make her nauseous again, and she ended up being unable to finish. The medic reassured her this was normal after going so long without food, and they would try small amounts again in an hour or two.

She dozed off again. This time, when she woke up, it wasn't just the medic there.

Helen Bastille stood as crisp and stern as ever near the bed. Beside her was a man that Parry had seen before but had never spoken too- Captain Argos Marshall of SOTAC. He was a well put together, square shouldered fellow with glinting eyes and dark skin. A thin white scar was on his lower lip, and a folder was tucked under his arm.

Another man stood a bit behind them. His hair was graying blonde, soft and almost baby thin, drifting like puffs of dandelion over his ears. He had an easy smile and an almost unkempt affability about him. Him, she did not recognize.

The medic looked her over and asked her a few questions on how she was feeling, then nodded to Bastille and exited the room. The affable fellow followed her to the door, but did not exit as well. Instead, he put a command in near the door that sealed the room for confidentiality. Then he returned to the foot of the bed.

"How are you feeling, Parry?" Bastille asked, her soft French-colored voice professional as always. Even so, Parry imagined she heard sympathy buried within it.

"Glad to be home, ma'am," she replied.

Bastille smiled a little, and nodded. "I have no doubt of that. This is Captain Argos Marshall of SOTAC."

She gestured to the man at her side, then at the other man. "And this is Dr. Rahul Versi."

The 'Dr.' gave it away. Parry looked at him.

"You're a shrink?"

He smiled a little. "On the barest level, yes," he said pleasantly. "I also work for SOTAC. It is part of my job to make sure that you are not only fit mentally for duty but to help determine the veracity of what you tell us about your experiences."

Her brows knit and she fixed him more keenly. "You mean, determine if I'm a Mandarin traitor, or I've been brainwashed."

"Yes," he said honestly.

She looked at him a moment, then returned her gaze to Bastille. "How long was I gone?"

"Seventeen days," she said without hesitation. To Parry, it felt like a random, arbitrary number. It felt like she'd been gone years.

The three pulled over chairs and at first Bastille just told her to tell her perception of events from the beginning. Parry told them everything, but as the story went on Bastille and Marshall occasionally interrupted with questions or comments. Versi remained silent, simply observing.

They wanted to know about the torture she went through- how often it occurred, what was the nature of it, what questions did they ask, did she answer any of them? They wanted her to describe Chiv and the human doctor. When she told them what Hector had looked like, Marshall produced an old, folded photograph and showed it to her.

"Was this him?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Where did you obtain this photograph?"

"He gave it to me. Wanted me to send it to the address on the back."

He nodded, folding the photo and slipping it away again.

It continued. She told them about Ara Chaz and repeated everything she'd said to her. _Everything_- about being a traitor, about implanting information so that Chiv and the others would think she was an elite operative, about the made up projects and her conversations with SOTAC- everything. This conversation, of course, prompted the most questions, both Bastille and Marshall picking apart everything she said, often making her repeat sections of the conversation over and over again.

This all didn't happen in the first session. Three days passed with repeated visits from Bastille and the other two. Often, they had her recount the entire story again. Sometimes, Marshall would repeat it back to her with deliberate, subtle changes- when he did, Parry would correct him. As this went on, her corrections came with increasing anger.

Versi rarely, if ever, spoke. When he did, it was usually to clarify some seemingly innocuous point. The first time, he wanted her to clarify the length of the baton that Chiv had used. Another time, he seemed more concerned with which fingers Hector had used to straighten her broken nose.

During all this, Parry was slowly getting her strength back. She was still allowed to see no one else other than the three and her medic. Any time she asked about her wingmates and anything that had happened on the Confed side while she was gone, her questions were deflected or simply went unanswered.

By the fourth day, Parry was well enough to do some walking around. They'd taken her off the IVs and she was on oral pain medications and solid food. When the door opened that day, she was a bit surprised to see only Bastille enter, neither Marshall nor Versi anywhere in sight.

There was a low sofa in the room with Parry. Bastille gestured to it and invited her to sit, then sat down beside her.

"You look better," she said conversationally.

"My body is healing," Parry said softly.

"The rest will come in time," Bastille said almost gently.

"Will it?"

"You have been through a lot, Angel," Bastille said. "You must give it time, and help."

"I take it SOTAC has all the answers they want?" Parry asked.

"Yes. What you have told us meshes with what intelligence we have been able to glean. The doctor that helped you, Hector Lopez, was a known double agent who had been infiltrating the Mandarin on the Confed's behalf. It was determined that he died in a Kilrathi raid but there were rumors he was working with some Kilrathi resistance to undermine the Cats within the Empire itself. The projector and the plans we found in your pockets, along with the photograph of Hector and his family, bear out your story. Both Marshall and Versi are satisfied that you are telling the truth, and while you may face some psychological issues regarding the ordeal you faced, you are officially not a traitor, imposter, or brainwashed spy."

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Always."

"They are satisfied…but you aren't?"

Bastille looked at her. "I never doubted it to begin with."

Parry stared at her. "I don't understand."

"Alpha Wing and Jondell have told me that you seem to be grateful for the opportunity you were given to enter the SFT, but puzzled as to why it was offered to you to begin with. You consider yourself a good pilot, but nothing special. The others in your Wing seemed to have certain talents and skills, things that made them stand out from the rest, but you were confused as to what your Colonel saw to prompt him to recommend you for this Wing, what prompted _me_ to accept that recommendation."

"Yes ma'am."

"You are a born leader, Parry. You are measured, skilled- not only in the cockpit, but in your interactions with your fellow pilots. Your Colonel did not recommend you as just an SFT pilot for Houston- he recommended you to be the Wing Commander of the new SFT Wing."

Parry stared at her, in utter disbelief. "Wing Commander? Me?"

"Yes. And if we did not already have Lt. Killdare slated for that position, I would have strongly considered that recommendation. You know how to lead, how to hold people together, to give them hope and determination. I saw it easily looking over your records and flight recordings before you ever came here, and we have all seen it every moment since you've been here. You make people want to follow you, Parry, and your unending devotion and loyalty does not just extend to your friends, but also your people, the Confed. I have dealt with more Mandarins and traitors than I care to remember. I have necessarily developed a knack for sniffing them out, as it were. You are neither."

"So…does this mean I'm cleared for duty?" Parry asked.

"Not quite," Bastille said. "You have been through an extremely taxing ordeal, as I said-both physically and psychologically. You will have mandatory sessions with Dr. Versi to help you process everything you had to endure. You will have to be cleared by him and pass your physicals and a flight test before you can return to full active duty. And, there is more."

"More?"

"Mazurek, the _Muhs OhDann_ did explode exactly four hours before your stolen Kilrathi transport was picked up drifting within the Territories. SOTAC has confirmed- Ara Chaz was lost in the explosion. As well, the plans we found in your pocket not only lent evidence to your story but also have given us the location of several Cat communication posts. They were hit last night, and communications along the Kilrathi side of the border have been strongly disrupted. We are waiting confirmation but it appears they are in full withdrawal-in this sector at least."

Parry nodded weakly. "Good. That's good to hear."

"It is a strong blow for the Confed- one we intend to take full advantage of in solidifying our foothold here and bolstering our position while the Kilrathi regroup and re-evaluate. I have been in full communication with Headquarters and with the heads of SOTAC and they have received full record of your testimony and the actions of Ara Chaz. I have received my orders this morning. As of now, until further notice, your conversation with Ara Chaz and the true events that transpired on the _Muhs OhDann_ are considered highly confidential, rank A1. As far as the rest of the Confed will know- including your own wingmates- you did exactly what Ara Chaz wanted the universe to believe: you escaped custody on your own, you managed to set the self-destruct, and you got out _by yourself_. _You_ killed Ara Chaz. There was no conversation, and no hint shall be spoken that Ara Chaz was a traitor to her people or had any hand in her own death. Are we clear?"

"Ma'am, I-"

"This is _non-negotiable_," Bastille said firmly. "If you tell anyone who does not have the proper clearance for the information you _will_ be tried as a traitor and prosecuted to the fullest extent of Confed law. Are we _clear?_"

"Yes ma'am. We're clear," Parry said softly.

Bastille nodded. "Good. I know this is a lot to put on your shoulders, but Ara was right about that as well. Our side needs a hero, and we have seen fit to give them one."

"Confidentiality aside, I'm not a hero," Parry said. "They practically walked me out the door. I was nothing but a means to an end-"

"Those scars on your back say differently to me," Bastille said. "The two weeks of torture in which you gave them _nothing_- everything you did was exactly as you should have done, Mazurek. Like it or not, a hero is exactly what you are, Ara Chaz aside."

Parry fell into silence, staring at the floor. Bastille was wrong. She _wasn't_ a hero. She was just a poor sap who had been in the wrong place at the right time. Ara herself had said it- they'd have taken _anyone_. It was just pure chance they'd snagged _her_ and no one else.

_I couldn't even save my wingman_, she thought. _I couldn't even save Ray. I'm no fucking hero._

Bastille watched her a moment, giving her a few seconds before she spoke again. "Your Wing was aware that a Kilrathi ship was picked up drifting on the border after the _Muhs OhDann_ exploded, but they were not informed that the person in that ship was _you,_ until this morning. They are understandably eager to see you again."

"It will be good to see them again too," Parry replied, though part of her didn't feel it. It was her fault Ray was gone, after all- _and_ she'd directly defied Jon's orders. Much as they would try to hide it, would she see blame for that behind their eyes?

_Two and a half weeks_, she thought. _Ray's funeral is long over and done with. They'd have reassigned a new wingman by now…maybe two, given the fact that I was MIA. _

Not looking at Bastille, her gaze and thoughts far away, Parry said, "If I can, I'd like to pay my respects."

"Respects?" Bastille asked.

"Yeah. I mean, I couldn't save her. I…I owe her that much."

"Lt. Mazurek, are you referring to Lt. Caruso?"

Parry looked over at her, and Bastille's brows lifted ever so slightly. "Of course, no one has told you."

"Told me what?" Parry asked, and her heart suddenly started to race. Bastille met her eyes, then spoke a handful of words that seemed to stop the world and open the floodgates in Parry's eyes.

* * *

She was still shuffling more than walking, any big motion pulling the healing cuts all over her back and arms, but she barely felt them beyond a distant annoyance as she followed Bastille through the infirmary hallways.

Her wounded arm still in a sling, she gripped on to the hem of the scrubs she was wearing with her good hand, trying to keep it from shaking.

Bastille reached a room door in the ICU section of the infirmary, and wordlessly opened it, gesturing for Parry to precede her. Not that Parry needed the gesture- she was already moving in, eyes fixed on only one thing.

The bed was surrounded by equipment, tubes and wires all plugged into the small figure resting in it. She looked pale and shrunken, the dark lids of her closed eyes appeared bruised. The only parts of her body that could be seen were her head and neck, shoulders, and arms. The rest was draped with blankets, bandages peeping just over the edge of the sheet that draped across her chest. The shoulders, part of her neck, and side of her face were marbled with black, green, yellow, and blue.

Beneath the blanket, Parry could see the shape of her left leg, her foot making a small bump in the covers.

Her right leg ended just above the knee, the blankets falling flat where her calf and foot should have been.

Parry moved toward the bed, covering her mouth a moment before that hand gently reached out and lightly drifted over short, dark hair.

On the pillow, her head shifted a little, turning toward the touch even as those bruised eyes slowly cracked open. Brows wrinkled, a look of half-drugged shock coming over her face.

"Wh-what?" she said in a tiny voice. "_P-Parry…?"_

"Shh," Parry said, eyes blurring even as she smiled. "I'm here. I'm home."

The tears fell unbidden, and she carefully picked up the hand resting on the sheets and pressed the back of it to her lips.

"I'm home, Ray…"


	15. On the Fighter's Diet

What had happened during her absence, Parry learned over the next few days.

Another Wing of Kilrathi had come in to the attack shortly after Parry and Ray had gone down on the moon, forcing the remainder of Rho Wing once again on the defensive. They were hard-pressed, and during the battle Jon realized much the same as Parry had begun to suspect- the attack and its patterns were very deliberate.

Not only had it seemed like the fighters had worked to purposefully worry out Ray and Parry and get them some distance from the rest of the Wing, but now that they were down it seemed the Kilrathi were intent to keep the rest of Rho away from the moon.

During the fight, Pagan's fighter had been lost, but Pagan himself had been able to eject. He'd suffered some minor injuries but was miraculously not killed or hit by the dogfighting ships while he floated helplessly in the middle of the mess.

By the time Charlie Wing had arrived to help them, they realized that two small Kilrathi transports with their own pair of fighter escorts had lifted off from Ippy and were beating feet back into the Territories- and that one of them was signaling with Parry's emergency beacon.

The first instincts of the entire Wing were, of course, to give chase. However one of their number was floating, two of them had serious fighter damage, and according to _Houston_ reports there was a prime ship on the Cat's side of the Territories in that sector- no doubt the source of the fighters. If they followed them in, they'd be swarmed, _and_ put themselves in range of the prime ship's big guns. Even Alpha wouldn't have stood a chance, with all pilots and all planes in top condition, and Rho had only four planes left in fighting shape.

It wasn't until later that Jon found out the 'prime ship' was the _Muhs OhDann_ herself.

Jon had to think about the rest of his Wing and the security of Confed space. Much as it weighed on him, he made the decision to cut off pursuit and return to Little Ippy. Rafe had a few things to say about the decision- none of which Jon blamed him for-but in the end the Wing obeyed and returned to the battle site.

S&R were on their way, but they had a hundred different fires to attend to with the other attack at the bulk of the Front. It took a small S&R ship nearly an hour to finally reach their position.

Rho and Charlie Wings didn't spend the time idle, of course. First, they pinpointed Pagan's position. They couldn't pick him up themselves in their fighters, but they could stay in contact with him, keep him calm and reassured, and insure no incoming ship accidentally collided with him. When S&R finally arrived, they would know precisely where to pick him up.

Then, leaving Siren and Rabbit to stay with Pagan, they scanned the moon, found where Gold Rush and Silver Girl had gone down, and they headed to the surface.

Silver Girl was clearly in better shape, and her pilot was nowhere in sight- no surprise, since they already knew Parry's beacon was going off in the depths of a Cat ship heading into the Empire. They focused on Gold Rush, the wreck far more spectacular, and her pilot was swiftly found still slumped in her pit.

Jon directed the others to putting out or containing the fires that were still burning around the wreckage as best they could, while he and Rafe scaled the side of Gold Rush to attend to its pilot. Moving carefully, they got her helmet off and determined that, miraculously, she was still alive- but only barely.

Though she was unconscious, they talked to her, reassured her. Rafe especially seemed determined to take care of her- perhaps because he felt it was all he could do for Parry, now a prisoner and out of reach.

When S&R finally landed with the proper tools, Jon was afraid Ray wouldn't survive being removed from her pit.

He and Rafe were forced to give up their positions for the medics and techs. One medic climbed up into the pit herself, practically on Ray's lap, performing what triage she could and helping to direct the techs on where to cut.

They could not cut through the hull of the fighter itself, of course-not with the tools they had and the time they had to do it. The hull had been designed to resist heavy weapons fire, after all, and a few cutting torches were not going to really even scratch it. Instead, the techs cut the connections between the rest of the fighter and the eject capsule, intending to literally lift most of the pit right out of the fighter chassis like a boiled egg yolk being separated from the white.

During the course of separating out the capsule, the medic discovered that Ray's leg was torn up and irrevocably tangled with shredded ruins of metal. It was this damage that was blocking them from lifting out the capsule, and probably what had stopped Ray from ejecting to begin with. Later, the techs determined that the damage and the wound to her leg had been caused in the same blast that had sent her into a spinning ruin to begin with.

There was barely any way to tell where broken plastic and steel ended and human flesh began. It was the very twisting of the debris and the heat from the impact that had caused the injury in the first place, that had ultimately prevented Ray from bleeding out in moments from such a devastating wound. Making a decision, knowing it would be impossible to extract or even hope to save the leg, the medic tied off her femoral artery right there in the pit, and cut her leg off just below the knee, allowing them to finally get her out of Gold Rush's ruined corpse.

In addition to the leg, Ray had sustained a lot of soft tissue damage, and a broken arm, wrist, hand, shoulder, pelvis, and a fractured skull- all on the right side, and all as a result of the initial missile impact. She had second degree burns along one side of her right thigh that had melted part of her flight suit to her skin. Third degree burns covered her lower leg, but they were left behind when they cut it off to get her out.

The medics both on site and later on in the infirmary all insisted that she would have lost consciousness immediately upon impact of the missile, and would have felt nothing. Jon and the rest of the Wing instantly contradicted that, reporting that Ripley had actually made more than one communication to them after the missile impact- her first immediately after it had hit to inform them that she'd lost control, then others urging Angel not to come after her.

Their flight recorders bore out their testimony. In them, Ripley sounded breathless and anxious, but not as one might expect she'd sound with her leg crushed and mangled and burned-or even actively burning- several bones broken, and a serious head injury.

More concerning was the gunshot wound to her chest.

When Rafe and Jon had been trying to help her they didn't think much about the wound in her chest. It was concerning as a wound, of course, and the fact that it was bleeding a nice amount- but they had assumed by default it was some kind of puncture wound caused by the crash itself. It wasn't until the medic climbed in and informed them she'd actually been shot, that what must have transpired on the little moon's surface became more apparent.

The Cat had shot her twice. On the first shot, her suit had done exactly what it was designed to do- it stopped the shot from penetrating. The impact did cause a lot of soft tissue damage, fracturing one rib and part of her sternum, but the bullet hadn't actually passed into her body.

The second shot was a bit closer, and while her suit slowed it down a lot, it succeeded in tearing through. In one of many surgeries she would endure over the next few days, they dug out the bullet from where it had lodged against the upper lobe of her lung. Another inch and it would have ruptured her superior vena cava.

Ray had spent the first ten days chemically unconscious while her worst wounds and surgeries were tended too. They ended up removing a few more inches of her leg due to the damage, terminating it right above the knee, and then fighting a case of sepsis from the injury and the grime that had gotten into it before it could be tended to.

It wasn't until two days after they let her wake up, that Jon finally told her that Parry was MIA, and assumed captured by the Kilrathi.

Parry knew none of this as she walked into that ICU infirmary room and saw Ray laying there. The fact that she was really alive was enough to bring tears to her eyes, only flavored by the extent of injuries she'd suffered.

Ray was still on hard pain medication, and her eyes were quite obviously foggy and disconnected. She didn't seem to quite be able to believe Parry was really there- she kept weakly squeezing her hand as if to reassure herself that it wasn't a hallucination.

"Are you ok?" she asked, her voice still small, and lethargic, and slightly slurred. "What happened?"

"I'm all right," Parry insisted. "I'm fine. Don't you worry about me…"

"Who'm I going to worry about then?"

"Ray-"

"You like my new physique?" Ray said, smiling. Drunken as the smile was, Parry soaked it in. She had never expected to see it again. "I'm on the fighter's diet. Best way to lose weight."

It was an old joke in the Confed. Any injury that resulted in the loss of a limb was considered a 'fighter's diet'.

Parry didn't feel the humor. She shook her head, still clasping Ray's hand between her own as if she believed just holding on tight enough would transport them back to a time before Little Ippy-back before all the horror had begun.

"Don't make jokes," she heard herself gasp. "I can't believe that you…I can't believe you're alive…"

Ray looked at her, slipping her hand out from between Parry's and then gently touching her cheek. The gash on her face from Chiv's tooth had healed to an angry red line on the side, just below the curve of her cheek bone. Ray's finger lightly swept over that line. Parry shook her head again, once more capturing her hand to keep it still.

"_Believe it or not_," Ray said, with a groggy, half asleep smile. "I'll get a shiny new leg, better than the old one. This one I won't have to shave. Think of the whole seconds I'll save in the shower."

"Ray…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't get to you," Parry heard herself say, her eyes blurring. "I tried so hard to get to you-"

Ray's eyelids were sagging a bit, and she was obviously making an effort to keep them open. "Hey," she said and made a shushing sound, giving Parry's hand another squeeze. "You're here, Angel. You got to me…"

"I should have stopped them."

Ray started to say something else, but was losing her fight against the drugs. Her eyes shut as sleep took over once again. Parry pressed her hand against her forehead, sniffling as she fought against the tears.

"I should have stopped them."

"Stop it, princess. You did all you could."

Parry glanced over at the door to the room. Bastille had disappeared, but Rafe and Connie were now standing there, watching her quietly. Seeing her look at him, Rafe scowled a little.

"I mean, for fuck's sake. You kept her clear, chased her down onto the moon, and took on a whole squad of Cats on foot by yourself. When that didn't work, you just…what, fucking blew up the _Muhs OhDann_ and took out the _eldest Kilrathi princess and most dangerous Cat in the fucking galaxy_ in a big 'fuck you?'"

"That's not how it happened," Parry heard herself mumble, before she remembered she wasn't supposed to reveal that.

"Oh? What'd I get wrong, princess? You took out the Emperor too? The whole of the Cat fleets? You were farting lightning and fireballs at the same time?"

"Rafe, stop it. It…wasn't a whole squad on the moon," she said lamely. "Just a half dozen or so-"

"'Just a half dozen or so,' she says," Rafe said, and stepped inside. "Oh la dee dah."

Gently lowering Ray's hand, Parry got to her feet. Wordlessly, she stepped into Rafe and hugged him tight. He hugged her back, and she didn't even care that the motion made her back burn and bite in pain.

"Welcome home, princess," he said to her. "You fucking beautiful Angel you."

* * *

Two days later, at just after 0200, Parry was in the same small lounge where Ray had revealed the secret of her father, seated on the very same window ledge, hugging her knees and sobbing her eyes out.

She'd been released from the infirmary on the same day that Bastille had told her Ray was still alive, but she was still off-duty for another week. They intended to put her on light duty for a while after that, until she could pass her flight tests and her psych eval and be cleared back for full roster.

She'd spent most of the past two days parked in Ray's infirmary room, leaving only for her mandatory sessions with Dr. Versi- which she hated. By necessity, he would bring up and insist on discussing the exact things she never wanted to think about again- the dogfight, Ray crashing, her torture, her escape.

Killing Niwol.

Killing Chiv.

While she was in Ray's room there was a thin but fairly steady stream of visitors. Her Wing was limited in the time they could come and spend with her and Ray, because they were still on full duty and SFT training hadn't really lightened up for them in the slightest. Rafe told her that they had brought in two floaters from Tango Wing- a typical Front combat Wing stationed on the _Baryshnikov_. Tango Wing had been one of the Wings that had battled on the Front on the same day that Rho encountered its ambush. No one was lost, but eight of their ten fighters were badly damaged and in need of extensive repair. The eight pilots assigned to these fighters were given older, temporary fighters and assigned to pad up other patrol Wings along the front while their own fighters were being repaired.

The two pilots whose ships were still in good working order were assigned along with those ships to replace Ripley and Angel.

Rafe told Parry about these two pilots. They were good, each having more than five years direct combat experience, but 'they're _not_ SFT material.' One of them, a slender man of East Indian descent who was apparently even quieter than Ray, seemed a decent enough fellow-but Rafe said he was so devoid of personality it was like he was little more than a physical placeholder meant to keep a seat warm.

His callsign was Mouse.

Rafe had far more to say about the other pilot from Tango- a stocky, square jawed Iranian woman with choppy, messy dreds, who stood a bit shorter than even Hobby, but had a _big_ mouth to make up for it. Her callsign was Crazy Jane…and apparently she lived up to the name.

"She's loud, and she's crude, and she doesn't know when to shut up," he said. Despite her mood, Parry managed a smile at this.

"Sounds like she's perfect for you."

Rafe was unamused.

Parry had tried to sleep the last two nights curled up in the chair in Ray's infirmary room, but the medics weren't having it. They didn't mind her staying there during the day, but they insisted she go back to her bunk at night and threatened to have Bastille bar her from the infirmary altogether if she didn't obey their orders.

Her first night back in her bunk she was so exhausted she slept like the dead, her mind sunk in thick blackness and oblivious of identity. The second night- tonight- she had woken in a cold sweat, panic and disorientation filling her. Her chest and throat felt as if someone was squeezing them, and she was absolutely certain- _certain_- that Chiv was about to walk in the room, that damned baton in his hand.

It had taken her some time to calm down, but she had no desire now to return to her bunk or try and sleep again. Now she was here, in this little lounge (that, oddly, no one else ever seemed to be in), crying like the world was ending and she had no way to stop it.

Everything that had happened had seemed to flood her at once. The reality of Ray being alive seemed to mesh with the fact that Parry couldn't save her back on Little Ippy, and her tears were a mix of pain, relief, thanksgiving, and pure misery.

After time, exhaustion slowed the sobs and ended her tears. Weary, still with no desire to try and sleep, she leaned her head on the glass of the viewport and watched the few small ships moving in and out of the docking bays just below.

Already, her name had spread like wildfire. Keeping to the infirmary kept her shielded from most of it, but Marty and Rafe and the others kept her informed. She was all anyone was talking about, all over _Houston_- all over the _Fleet_. New pilots back on Yelchin, or Jefferson, or Johannesburg- raw recruits just starting their flight training- were talking about her. They called her the Angel of Death. In just days, she'd very nearly supplanted Merlin as far as 'legendary' status was concerned.

And all of it…_all_ of it…was a lie.

Her tears dry, she watched the ships come and go, the small gold coin of Hetchler off in the distance. Even here, she could not truly escape a constant reminder of what had happened.

Then, the door opened.

Surprised, Parry looked over at the figure standing shadowed in the open lounge doorway. The room itself was dark, the only light coming in from the viewport providing little more illumination than a full moon back on Earth. With the door open to the hall, the figure couldn't be seen save for a silhouette, but as they stepped in and the door slid shut again, she realized who it was.

Jondell quietly crossed the room, gesturing at her to stay where she was, as she made a motion to get to her feet. Drawing up to the viewport, he looked out in silence for a moment, then looked at her, and held his hand out to the ledge.

"May I?"

She tucked her feet in a bit more, though there was plenty of room and no need to do so, and nodded. Turning, he sat down facing her.

"This is a nice place," he said, glancing around in appreciation. "Quiet. I didn't know this lounge was even here."

"How did you know I was here?" she asked, still hugging her knees. He gave an apologetic gesture toward her hands.

"I've been keeping tabs on your location," he said, referring to her thumb chip.

At first, when Parry had been taken, she'd been worried about them cutting off her thumb and then doing the same with her earlobe, ridding her of her ident chip and her communication chip. The Cats had to know by now that human Confed soldiers had such chips implanted in those locations- it had been standard procedure for decades.

During the questioning with Bastille and Marshall, she'd learned the Cats had stopped doing that sometime back. In the beginning, after implementing the chips, that very thing would occur- POW's would immediately have their thumbs and ears cut off to prevent them being tracked or opening short-wave communications to anyone in the Confed.

The Confed countered this in a rather drastic but effective way- they implanted cyanide devices somewhere else in the soldier or pilot's body. This device was fine so long as it received regular, millisecond updates from the thumb and ear chips. If the chips stopped reporting, the cyanide would be released, and the subject would die in moments. Because the updates were on the millisecond, it was impossible for the Cats to remove the chips and then mimic the signal in time to stop the device from killing its host. Because each cyanide device was put into a different part of each person's body at random, and because they were made unscannable, they couldn't even pinpoint and remove the cyanide before removing the chips- especially if the cyanide were located in a particularly tricky location, like next to the heart, or in the liver.

While there were a few 'accidents'- a soldier getting an injury where an explosion damaged his hand, for example, destroying the chip and instantly releasing the cyanide device-for the most part it worked. The Cats could no longer remove the chips if they wanted live prisoners to interrogate or trade.

So, the Cats had stopped cutting off thumbs and ears and instead just developed a static shield device that prevented the chips from working in any area they didn't want them too- much like the same device that shut off Parry's camera in secure locations.

As soon as the Cats stopped cutting off body parts, the Confed stopped implanting cyanide devices. The Cats never went back to cutting off the body parts, because they could never be sure if someone had a device implanted or not, or if the Confed had reinstituted them. Since their new measures were effective at keeping the chips nonfunctioning anyway, the point had become moot.

Now that Parry was away from the Kilrathi, her chip was working again just fine- and it had allowed Jon to pull up her location on the _Houston_ map and find her here.

"Why were you even looking for me?" she asked.

"I'm your Wing Commander," he said. "I know that the infirmary forbid you from sleeping there, so I decided to make sure you were following instructions and returning to your bunk."

She looked at him levelly. "I don't buy it."

"Oh?"

"If that were the case, you'd have seen me in my bunk at lights out. It's 0200 now. Why were you checking up on me at 0200?"

"I'm also your friend, I hope," he said. "I know how bad the nightmares can be. I wanted to be sure you were ok."

"How do you know?" she asked. There was no accusation in her tone, no scoffing. Of all her wingmates she knew the least of Jondell's personal life or history- beyond that he was Merlin Killdare's son, and had been raised on this very Front, in this very Fleet. She didn't think he'd ever been kidnapped and tortured by the Cats, but that didn't mean that he hadn't- or that he hadn't suffered some equivalent trauma.

His expression never changed. He looked at her with that same, calm gaze in silence for a bit-long enough that Parry was sure that he wasn't going to answer.

Then, he said something that Parry had never even imagined before.

"Because I killed my mother."


	16. It Can Only Go Up From Here

Parry stared at him, shocked at the revelation, but said nothing. That wasn't the kind of thing you just revealed whimsically, without intending to further explain.

He looked out the viewport quietly for a moment, then said, "My folks met on the _Thailand_ just after Dad got assigned there for his first Wing after graduation. Diane was in his first Wing too, but it wasn't an SFT Wing…not then. It was a typical patrol Wing coded as Foxtrot."

Diane was, of course, Shadow. Parry knew that Shadow, Malibu, and the lean (and quite honestly, incredibly creepy) Tread, had all been part of Merlin's Wings from the beginning of his career. The Foxtrot Wing Jon was talking about was not Merlin's command, of course. He didn't get bumped to WC until he got transferred to SFT. His WC back then, if Parry's memory was correct, was a big combat veteran named Squat.

"My mother was Confed but she wasn't a pilot," Jon continued. "She was a shock jockey assigned to their flight deck. They called her Butterfly. I guess my folks had some flirty banter from the get-go…that's not important I guess. They eventually got married, about a year before Dad made SFT. I came along shortly after that. I ended up being raised on the _Concord_, which was Mom's assignment. They both knew how dangerous it was raising a kid on the Front but neither wanted to give up their career and honestly, the Confed couldn't afford it."

Parry nodded a little. It wasn't unusual to see kids on the _Houston_. People were deployed to the Front for so long that marriages and children were not unexpected, and to separate those families meant that a father, or a mother, could miss out on their kid's entire childhood. There were news stories that often questioned the wisdom of allowing children to be raised on or near the various war fronts, but when things were looked at with complete honesty- there wasn't anywhere safe for them to go anyway.

The Confed did discourage its active combatants from having children, and certainly from having more than one, but discouragement only went so far. It was against the civil rights of its enlisted forces to flat out deny them the chance to get married and have kids. If deployments on the Front had been shorter- say only a year or two- such a law could easily have gone into effect. However given that the reality was that a person could spend their entire adult life from graduation to retirement literally on the Front, it made such a law illegal according to the Full Earth and Colonies Civil Rights Decree of 2086.

"When I was seven, Mom and I took leave to visit my grandmother- my mother's mother- who lived in the Klausman colony in Sector Upsilon. She was not in good health, and Mom wanted to see her again before she passed away."

Parry felt her body go still, right to her deepest gut. Upsilon Sector didn't exist anymore- rather, it _did_, but it was now part of the Kilrathi Empire. The colonies there had been wiped out, thousands taken prisoner or just shot in their beds. The Confed was _still_ negotiating the release of several people who had been taken from the various colonies in Upsilon after the small Seventh Fleet had been shredded by a massive, unexpected Kilrathi offensive.

Given Jondell's current age, and the age he gave when he said they had gone to visit, she had a sinking feeling. Chances were all but certain he had been on that colony when the Seventh Fleet collapsed, and the Cats came surging in.

Seeing that realization in her eyes, perhaps, he didn't bother explaining what he knew _she_ already knew.

"It was the middle of the night when they came down on Klausman. We were one of the closest colonies to the Front, and it took the Cats less than half an hour to reach us after breaking past the dying Seventh. I remember waking up as the colony evac alerts started to wail. We were staying in Grandma's house at night, but Grandma was in the hospital on the other side of the colony. She wanted us to stay in the house, I remember, because she thought it would be more comfortable for me than sleeping on a hard cot set against a wall in her ICU room. I remember she and Mom argued a bit about it- as much as Grandma _could_ argue. Mom wanted to stay in the hospital, in case Grandma's condition worsened. Even dying, Grandma was stubborn and eventually got her way."

He shrugged weakly, his focus back on the ships that were floating in and out of dock. "Good thing too. The hospital went in the first wave of the attack. By the time the evac alerts started off, the Kilrathi were already in orbit. There was less than sixty seconds between us waking up and the first fighters strafing the colony- hitting the communications hub, the port, our small Confed security post, and the hospital.

"Mom and I ran. There was nothing else we could do. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do but get out of the colony, and hide in the hills until the Fleet could send in ships to come clear out the Kilrathi and rescue people. We didn't know then that the Seventh was all but gone, that rescue wasn't coming. By the time we got to the edge of the colony, Kilrathi foot troops were landing. Mom had her service pistol with her but it was the only weapon we had. A squad of foot troops spotted us as we made the run for the tree-line, and followed us into the woods. We managed to evade most of them but Mom got hit by a lucky shot fired wildly into the trees. I didn't know it until later. We climbed down a dry stream bed and followed it into the hills. We took shelter near the bed, in a mess of boulders and rocks. Mom was bleeding badly by that point, but she kept reassuring me that she was all right, that the wound was not life-threatening. She tried all night to raise the Confed or _any_ friendly on communications, but the Cats had already blocked any signal coming or going offworld. We had no supplies, and Mom ended up using part of her shirt to stop the bleeding."

So far, Parry had heard nothing to indicate that Jon was responsible for his mother's demise. Everything that had happened thus far was beyond his ability- as a terrified seven year old boy- to control, direct, or halt.

He paused a bit longer this time. Parry got the distinct impression he didn't often tell this story.

"We were there for six days," he said. "We didn't have any food, and the only water we had was what trickled down from the rocks during a rainstorm that left us both soaking wet. Mom was right about her wound…it bled a lot but it really wasn't bad, not life-threatening in and of itself. However, we had no medication, nothing to clean it with, no antibiotics. She did her best, but within two days she was so feverish she was delusional. By the third day, the infection was so bad she was in perpetual agony, struggling not to scream during the times she was lucid enough to control herself. There were still Kilrathi patrols moving through the woods on occasion- loud screams would draw them right to us. On the fourth morning I woke up to her sobbing. I was terrified. I was only seven but I knew she was dying, and she clearly knew it too. She begged for me to go around the ledge of rocks, somewhere I couldn't see. She had her pistol in her hand, and I knew what she meant to do. She was dying anyway, and if she fell into full delirium and started to scream, she'd draw the Cats right to me, as well."

"Jesus," Parry heard herself say softly. Jon looked at her.

"I wasn't stupid. I knew exactly what she meant to do, and I wasn't going to let her," he said. "I fought her for the pistol. It wasn't hard, she was so weak by then I barely had to try. She started crying again. She was in so much pain I…even now I can't imagine what she would have been feeling. Her entire abdomen had gone septic, gangrene was probably spreading through her gut, intestines, and liver. I don't think she intended to beg me, but she did. The pain was so bad, she started begging me."

"Jesus, Jon…" Parry said again. "Oh, Jesus…"

"I couldn't let her suffer any more. I couldn't let her suffer like that. She was begging me, pleading with me. I don't think at that point she even knew who I was. I couldn't leave her like that anymore, and I had the gun..."

He didn't need to say what exactly he did. It was unnecessary. He just went quiet again for a long time.

"How did you get out of there?" Parry asked at last, almost timidly, as if afraid of shattering the silence.

"Two days later, starving and dying of dehydration, I did the only thing I could do," he said. "I walked out of the woods and back toward the colony. The Cats picked me up and I was crammed onto a transport with some other colonists that they had finally managed to round up. I was lucky- we never made it as far as the Empire. Most of those in my transport were in pretty poor shape and the Cats didn't want to deal with treating us, and they were eager to get a prisoner or two back that had been captured by the Confed. They negotiated the entire transport of us sick and dying colonists in exchange for one of those POWs, and the Confed agreed. I was treated and cared for, and eventually sent back to Dad."

"And he knows the whole story? Everything that happened?" Parry asked. Jon nodded.

"I had nightmares for months after that. Years. I know that I did what I had to do. I know that she was in pain, that there was no way to save her. It was a mercy, what I did. But having to do it doesn't ease what happens later, Parry…having to _live_ with it. It's not what happens, but what comes _after_ that is the big struggle. I'm not saying that I can understand everything you are going through, but that _after_? I'm old friends with that _after_. You're not alone, ok? You can talk to me. I know they assigned you a shrink, but shrinks don't necessarily get it, not the way people who've been through it themselves get it. Talk to me if you need too. Talk to Caruso. She likes to make it seem as if she's ok but it's an act. She nearly died, and she lost her leg. Her 'after' is a bit different from ours but it's just as real and painful. She's going to need a listening ear, and she'd make a good one for you too."

Parry nodded a bit. "What are they going to do with her?"

"That's a very good question," Jon said. "The rest of us can still keep training. You'll be a bit behind us but you should be able to realistically catch up. Ray's going to be at least another month before she's healed enough to get fitted for her prosthetic, and it's going to be at least a week after that before she can even think of taking her flight tests and physicals and getting cleared back to full duty. She's going to be so far behind I don't know if they'll keep her our Wing, the SFT, or even in the Confed."

Parry didn't like that. The idea of Ray not being in their Wing any more was one she didn't even want to contemplate, but Jon was right. By the time she was back up to snuff physically, she'd be far behind the rest of them. Prosthetics had also become very sophisticated, but they were not perfect. If it was determined that Ray couldn't fly up to snuff anymore, even for a regular Wing, she'd be retired from the Confed and sent home. Almost as soon as it had begun, her career could be over.

_She's alive. Just keep reminding yourself of that. No matter what happens, she's alive. _

Parry and Jon spent another hour or so just talking, before they finally parted ways. Parry might not have duty the next day, but Jon did- and he needed at least a little sleep before tackling it. After he'd gone, she'd made her way up to the park. She still didn't want to go back to sleep, and it would be a bit still before the infirmary would let her back in. Walking around the deserted pathways, she thought about everything Jon had told her.

What had happened to him and his mother was horrific, and she could understand the depth of guilt and pain he must still feel because of it. It would have been a lot for a grown adult to handle- the fact he'd only been seven years old was a tragedy beyond her ability to truly fathom.

She wondered if his mother's death was why he and his father seemed to have such a stilted, barely cordial relationship. Parry didn't want to believe that Merlin could possibly blame his son for what had occurred with his wife, but she knew pain and grief could make people do strange things. It was possible it was only Jon's own private guilt and blame that caused him to withdraw from his father, but that was more personal information she wasn't going to pry into.

Parry couldn't even make an educated guess, because she had never even spoken to Merlin. In all their training thus far, it had been the other members of his Wing- such as Shadow, or Malibu- who had done the training. Merlin himself never really showed up.

That was probably Bastille's doing. Alpha was the best Wing to train Rho, but Merlin remained Jondell's father. Having a father train his own son- especially when the relationship might already be severely strained- wasn't a very wise thing to do.

Parry wandered around the park until she was sure the infirmary would let her in, then headed back that direction- pausing only to take a quick shower and change her uniform. She arrived in Ray's room to find the other woman was awake, more alert than she had been before now, and picking at a tray full of the same bland slop they'd fed Parry.

"Hey," she said, giving Parry a grin as she walked in. "Thank God you're here. I think they're trying to poison me."

"If we wanted you dead, Lieutenant, we have far more creative ways to do it than the food," the medic joked from nearby, where she was checking Ray's IV's.

"I'm not entirely convinced of that," Ray said, poking at the food again. "This seems pretty creative to me. I think it may be moving."

"Just give it a good stab, that'll stop it," the medic told her, finishing her work. She gave Parry a wink. "Good morning, Lt. Mazurek. Make sure she eats all of it."

"I will," Parry promised, watching the medic step out, before going and taking up her usual chair. She watched Ray glumly poking at the food for a long moment.

"It's really not all that bad," she said.

"You're lying."

"I am," Parry admitted. "But it's necessary Ray. You need to get your strength back."

Ray gave the food another stir, then lay her head back on the bed, which had been moved into a sitting position. She looked over at Parry.

"Lindsey says you've barely left my room since coming back," she said.

"Lindsey?"

"My medic," she said, glancing toward the door to indicate the woman who had just left.

"You're on a first name basis?"

"Figured it was appropriate considering she's seen my insides," Ray replied. "You shouldn't."

"Shouldn't what?" Parry asked, confused by the random segway. Normally she could keep Ray's sudden jumps of topic straight, but this one kind of eluded her.

"Spend all your time in here," Ray said. "You have to stay in shape. Get back in the pit."

"I'm doing everything I'm allowed to do right now," Parry said. "I'm still healing, too."

"What happened?" Ray asked her. "All the Wing would tell me is that you were MIA, that the Cats picked you up on Ippy after I crashed. Now I hear a rumor that you throttled Ara Chaz with your bare hands…?"

Parry's stomach tightened, and she scowled- not at Ray, but at the goddamn rumor mill. It was bad enough she had to lie to everyone about what had really happened- even, ultimately, Ray-but did they have to make even the overblown lie _more_ overblown?

"That _didn't_ happen," she said, perhaps a bit more curtly than she intended.

"Ok, so _tell_ me," Ray said with a gentle intent. "What _did_ happen, Parry?"

Parry didn't want to tell her. She didn't want to _ever_ tell her, especially since she couldn't even tell her the truth. Ray had trusted her with her secret about her father, and Parry got to return the favor by purposefully lying to her face. The fact that she was under orders to do so didn't make her feel any better about it.

"I'll tell you on one condition," Parry said at last.

"…you're going to make me eat this, aren't you?" Ray asked. When Parry nodded, Ray sighed with mock drama, and picked up her fork again. "All right, _fine_. I'll eat, you talk."

It was hard to tell which was more laborious and reluctant- Ray eating the slop on her plate, or Parry relating the slop that the Confed had insisted upon, but in the end, both were finished.

A lot of what Parry did end up saying was more or less the truth. She just couldn't relate that Ara was a traitor, or that her escape had been planned, but the rest she could tell pretty accurately. Ray was probably a little confused when Parry's eyes welled up after describing how she'd killed Niwol and her other guards. Parry wasn't able to say that Niwol had pretty much just let her shoot him, of course- she had to tell it as if she took him by surprise and just managed to get him down, with him fighting the whole time.

The fight with Chiv she was able to relate honestly, but with far more emotion. As her voice wavered and broke, a mixed expression of anger and grief coming over her as she related the fight, Ray set her small plate- now empty- aside, and reached over, taking her hand wordlessly. Parry clung to it, and quickly finished.

"I passed out in the pit," she concluded. "Next thing I remember is waking up here."

Ray gave her hand a tug. Parry looked at her with bleary confusion, and Ray tugged it again with a gentle, "C'mon, up here."

Parry rose, then sat on the edge of Ray's bed, folding forward against her as Ray pulled her in and hugged her tightly. Parry was careful not to squeeze, mindful of Ray's still healing wounds, but just holding her like this did more to soothe Parry's spirit and broken heart more than anything else had thus far.

"I thought you were dead," she whispered into Ray's ear. "The whole time I was gone, I thought you were dead, and it was all my fault."

"I'm not dead," Ray said. "And if I was, it wouldn't have been your fault, and I would have come back from heaven just to kick your ass for thinking it was."

This was so close to something the unreal 'Ray' had said to Parry during her escape that for a moment it gave her pause. Ray's fingers weakly wound in Parry's short hair a moment, before she gently kissed her cheek.

"We both made it, Angel," she said softly. Parry pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against Ray's, tears on her cheek.

"Yeah."

"We _both_ made it," Ray repeated. "The worst is over with. It's got to be. It can only go up from here."


	17. Hope

Two days later, unbelievable news came in.

The Confed had their own military news network that basically ran around the clock on the display vids lining all the mess halls and rec centers. Most of the time they were ignored, unless the screen edged itself in red- that meant vital, immediate war related news was forthcoming: a significant attack, a terror strike, incoming forces to any one of the major Fronts.

Parry had learned that the news of the destruction of the _Muhs OhDann_ and the death of Ara Chaz had earned a red report. She'd been in the infirmary, still unconscious, when it happened, so she'd missed it. The report hadn't said her name, only that it wasn't clear who had hit the _Muhs OhDann_ or if its destruction was even purposeful and not the result of some accident or malfunction.

She'd been in the infirmary, trying to talk Ray into eating the slop on her plate, when the official red report came in naming her as the pilot who had destroyed the prime ship during an escape attempt. Of course, the news that she had done so was already over the Confed by that point, so making it a red report was pointless- to her mind anyway.

Of course, she'd have been far more comfortable if her involvement had just stayed anonymous, all things considering, but any chance of that ship had long since been sailed.

It was her first day to officially resume training duties with her Wing. She was up half an hour before they were, as she had more work to do to get back into shape and catch-up. There was still no word regarding Ray and whether or not they'd allow her to stay part of Rho or even in the Confed. It was something that constantly worried at the back of Parry's mind.

When the new red report came in, they were sitting down to lunch in the mess. Parry already felt beat half to death, but she wasn't going to voice even the slightest complaint. She was alive, and able to fly…however it might have come about, she was deeply grateful for it, and would never take her future as a pilot for granted again.

Parry still couldn't _officially_ fly- she had her physicals and flight test in another three days, and until she passed them she couldn't do more than putter around training space in the temporary fighter they'd assigned her. She'd run it through maneuvers for a short time that morning, and already hated it. It was an ok fighter, but it was older, outdated…compared to Silver Girl it flew like a garbage truck with two flat tires. Luckily, Silver Girl had been recoverable and was under extensive repair. Sunshine promised her that by the time Parry was able to see full action again she should be ready.

Gold Rush, sadly, was a lost cause. If Ray ever got to fly SFT again, they'd have to provide her an entirely new VMX-series fighter.

_When_, Parry silently reminded herself. _When. Not if_.

Because her flight status was still up in the air, and Ray was still out, both the replacement pilots from Tango were still with Rho. If Parry passed her tests, the younger and quieter of the two- Mouse- would be reassigned. Crazy Jane- much to Rafe's clear chagrin- would be staying on until Ray's fate had been decided.

Parry had met neither of the two until today, and she immediately picked up on why Rafe didn't like Crazy Jane.

Her given was Haleh Golpari. She seemed to have a spark in her eyes, a defiance, as if she took every interaction- no matter how innocent- as a precursor to a fist fight. She measured Parry with dark, unreadable eyes as she got to the table with her tray, her chin lifting a bit as if she had to steel herself for a confrontation. Parry only noticed her at first because she was the only one that stayed seated, while the rest of her Wing got to their feet with happy cries. While all of them had come to visit her at one point or another, this was her true 'welcome back'.

"Not sure why they don't just slap you back in a pit and send you into the Empire," Marty said with a grin as Parry set her tray down. "You'd come back with the Emperor's head."

"I got lucky," Parry replied. "That's all."

"God give all of us your 'lucky'," Connie smiled. "It is good to have you back."

"All right guys, all right. Let her eat. She's done twice as much PT today as you lot," Jon said. As they sat back down, Billy leaned forward, eyes still glittering.

"Did you get to see her?" he asked. Parry took her usual spot, unwrapping her utensils. Distracted, she didn't follow his question at first.

"What? Who?" she asked, thinking he must mean Crazy Jane, who was watching her from low over her own food tray, as if she had to guard it from thieves.

"What do you mean 'who?'" He asked. "Ara Chaz!"

Her brows knit, and Rafe reached over, giving Billy's shoulder a sharp poke. "Hey, she's been through a lot, Pagan. She's getting grilled enough about what happened. Let her eat her chow in peace ok?"

"I just wanted to know if she actually saw-"

"No, I didn't see her," Parry replied, focusing on her lunch.

"So you didn't throttle her with your bare hands," an unfamiliar voice said. Parry lifted her eyes and met the dark, glittering ones of Haleh.

"No, I didn't," she said.

"But you knew she was on the ship," she said, like an accusation.

"I heard that she might be, but-"

"It's all very convenient, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"That's enough, Haleh. Leave her be," Rafe said angrily, Judy quickly agreeing. From the look Judy gave the temporary pilot, Parry could tell she wasn't a big fan either. In fact, none of them seemed to be, and all seemed to be bristling to defend Parry. Haleh ignored them.

"You just _happen_ to get captured in a very strange ambush. You just _happen_ to get taken onto the _Muhs OhDann_ which just _happened_ to be this close to the Front, and then you just _happened_ to escape and take it and one of the most powerful Cats in the galaxy out in a single blow."

"That's enough, Haleh," Jon said, giving Rafe a look as the visibly furious man started to reply. Haleh gave an idle gesture with her fork.

"I'm just remarking on how strange it is, that's all," she said. "Sometimes life is like that. Isn't it?"

Her eyes had never left Parry's.

Perhaps it was a fear of being exposed- not that she didn't want the truth known, of course, but she also didn't want to get court-martialed for breaking confidentiality, even accidentally. Perhaps it was just the fact that Haleh seemed to be questioning Parry's honor, even if she didn't outright say it- slyly implying that Parry was, in fact, a traitor.

Perhaps it was just her own inner guilt at keeping the truth from the rest of them- a truth that this stranger seemed to see somehow. Or, perhaps, this was just her own churning emotions looking to vent in any way afforded to them.

Whatever the cause, Parry felt her temper growing. Without looking over at her WC she said, "It's ok Jon. She doesn't know me."

To Haleh she said, "Yes, sometimes life is fucking strange," she said. "You want to know why the Cats were there, ask _them_. You want to know why that ambush was set up, ask _them_. All _I_ know is, my wingman was nearly killed and I was dragged off like a lump of meat to be tortured for days, and all I could think about was getting free, getting home again. When the chance came I took it, because I knew I'd rather die than live another minute that way. Call my escape God or fate if you want- or just pure dumb luck- it doesn't matter; but if I hear that tone in your voice again even remotely implying that I'm a _fucking Mandarin traitor_-"

Her hands slammed down on the table. Connie, who was sitting beside her, quickly took hold of her arm and gently said something soothing- Parry barely heard it.

What she _did_ hear was Jon's voice.

"Parry, that's enough. Are you ok?"

The temper drained out almost as fast as it had come on, leaving Parry feeling ashamed. She shouldn't have reacted that way. What the hell did she care what this stranger thought of her?

"Parry?" Jon repeated more firmly. She nodded.

"Yeah, sorry. Five by…"

"It's all right," he said, then fixed his eyes on Haleh. "You need to school your tongue, pilot," he said. "I will not have you harassing any other member of this Wing. If I do not feel you can work cohesively with this Wing I will request another pilot and I _will_ have you transferred back to Tango. You can do escort missions or guard Junior until the rest of your Wing is up to snuff, am I clear?"

"Hey, no harm meant," Haleh said with a broad smile. "No harm meant. Hey…"

She held her hand across the table toward Parry. "Sorry man. Didn't mean anything."

Parry looked at Rafe, who was still red-faced, a visible vein throbbing in his forehead. It was clear he didn't believe for a second her apology was genuine, or that she truly hadn't meant anything.

Parry wasn't sure if she did either, but she reached out after a moment and took Haleh's hand, giving it a quick shake.

"All right."

"We good?" Haleh asked.

"Yeah."

"So, Parry…the schedule these _hard-asses_ keep us on make it hard to get to the infirmary," Marty said, giving Jon a look. Jon returned it dryly. "How's Ray doing?"

Parry appreciated his sudden change of subject, but before she could answer, a sound broke in above the dull roar of the full mess hall. The sound was a distinctive, three note chirp. Immediately, the chatter in the hall died down, and nearly every head turned to focus on the nearest wall monitor.

The Confed news anchor replaced streaming feeds from various points of interest, the border of the image around her flashing red.

"Stand by for a live address from the Confederation Minister of Defense, General Solomon Rojas."

The image changed to General Rojas, standing in front of a plain lavender backdrop and flanked by the various appropriate flags. Rojas was in his late sixties, but still a solid wall of a man- Parry would have been unsurprised to learn he was related to Rafe, if the two were not from completely different ethnicities.

"Good morning," he said evenly, in a deep baritone. "To the ladies and gentlemen of the Confederation, to all who serve in any capacity in the fight to preserve our home, our people, and our freedom, let me start by saying thank you. Thank you for your tireless efforts, your selfless sacrifices, your undying strength, and all you bring to our Confederation services. As you know, the Kilrathi War has raged on now for over three decades. Countless lives have been lost in its fighting- both the innocent civilians of our colonies, as well as your stalwart brothers and sisters in arms who have laid down their lives in sacrifice for others. It is a testament to the strength of humanity that all was not lost in the initial Kilrathi strike that sparked this terrible war, and it is further testament to our unending courage and commitment that we have come this far. And today, it is my honor and privilege to inform you of the next steps of our great Confederation.

"As many of you may have heard, twenty one days ago the Kilrathi took a First Fleet pilot- 2nd Lt. Parry 'Angel' Mazurek, prisoner along the Front. Nine days ago, Lt. Mazurek was able to escape confinement and make it back to the First Fleet. In the process, a Kilrathi prime ship, the _Muhs OhDann_, was destroyed- taking with it the life of the eldest daughter of the Emperor himself, and head of Kilrathi Intelligence, Ara Chaz."

At this, a rumbling cheer broke out throughout the mess hall. Parry felt her face heat and ducked her head, ignoring the pats to her shoulders from Connie and Marty as they hooted and cheered right along with the others.

The celebration was short-lived, however, those gathered not wanting to miss what may be said next. The hush quickly fell again as the general continued.

"The death of Ara Chaz is a great victory for the Confed, and a devastating blow to the Kilrathi and their emperor. For those stationed on the Fronts, the last few days have been tense ones as we have waited to see how the Kilrathi will respond to the loss of not only one of the royal family, but arguably one of the keenest minds of their kind. This morning, at 0800 Confed Standard Time, my offices received our answer. For the first time in nearly twenty years, the Kilrathi Emperor Sarn Mikarnik Aitken, has opened communications with SOTAC and Confederation Command. He is willing to open peace talks with the Confederation, and as a gesture of good faith, the Kilrathi offensives along the various Fronts will be drawing back-"

The moment he said the word 'peace' the group in the mess hall erupted into cheers and shouts and calls so loud that Parry could barely hear the rest of what he said. She found herself on her feet as well, Connie hugging her from one side as Marty whooped and jumped up and down, slapping his hand over and over again onto her shoulder.

"Did you just end the war?" he shouted, his voice cracking from the high pitch of emotion. "Fuck, Angel! Did you just end the _goddamn war?"_

Though the shouts were still filling the air, people hugging and crying or just standing in disbelief, Parry noticed one person wasn't celebrating. Haleh had gotten to her feet but she wasn't cheering or carrying on like the others. She was standing as nonchalant as if she were waiting for a bus, looking at the vid screens. As if she sensed Parry looking at her, she suddenly turned her head, and met her eyes, giving a wry smile.

"It isn't over until it's over," Haleh said. Somehow, Parry could hear her clearly despite the ongoing din. "_Nothing_ is over until it's over."

* * *

Parry was trying not to run as she got to the infirmary, but not entirely succeeding at it. Normally, her speed would have had a dozen medics and nurses shouting after her, but the few she saw were clustered themselves around vid screens, chatting in little knots about the news, still reeling.

She picked up speed as she neared Ray's room, all but skidding to a halt as she charged within. "Ray, did you hear-!"

She broke off, blinking. No one was there. The room was empty, the bed neatly made. For a pair of heartbeats, she stared at the empty bed, her excitement transforming into confusion, and then fear. She felt her chest suddenly constrict, her breath becoming narrow, and recognized the on-coming panic attack for what it was. Shaking, she fumbled for a nearby chair and sat down, forcing herself to breathe even.

_Nothing's happened to Ray. She is out of danger. They either moved her to a new room or took her somewhere for tests, that's all. _

She forced herself to sit and breathe until she felt the attack loosen its hold. Only when it had completely gone did she carefully get back to her feet and walk out of the room to the nurse's station.

Managing to distract a nurse from the vid screen she calmly asked where Ray had gone.

"Oh, they've taken her down for PT," the nurse replied, her eyes still flickering behind her toward the screen. "Uh…room 111."

_You see?_ _Fine_, Parry thought, then nodded. "Thank you."

But the nurse had already forgotten she was there. Making herself walk, Parry headed toward the physical therapy wing. Having done some of it herself the route was permanently emblazoned on her mind. Her worry was being replaced by excitement again.

Could the war really be over? Part of her didn't really want to hope for fear it was a trick (and a larger part certainly didn't want the credit for it), but she couldn't help it. Ara's plan had worked. The Cats were either thrown into enough of a mess that this strategic retreat was all they could do to buy time –buying it for their enemies as well- or the Emperor was genuinely remorseful and losing his beloved child had opened his eyes to what his much flaunted honor had bought him.

_And if Ray is in PT that means they think she's strong enough for it. If she's strong enough to get into PT this fast, maybe she can requalify quickly, get back in the Wing without too much more time lost. _

She located Room 111 and stepped inside, nearly running right into the wheelchair being pushed the other direction. The nurse blinked in surprise, drawing up and barely halting the chair from bashing Parry right in the shins. Ray, looking pale and damp with sweat, looked up at her.

"Parry, what-"

"The Cats are negotiating," Parry said breathlessly. "They're drawing back from the Fronts."

"What? Are you serious?" The nurse asked, almost simultaneous with Ray's gasp.

"You're kidding me!"

"No, I'm not. General Rojas just reported."

"Oh my, oh…I need to call my brother," the nurse said, almost in tears. Parry gestured at her.

"Go on, I can take her back up."

"A-are you sure? I really shouldn't-"

"Go. We'll be fine," Ray said. "I'm strong as an ox, remember?"

"Thank you," the nurse said, briefly touching Parry's wrist before hurrying past and away. Parry didn't immediately take hold of the wheelchair, but instead knelt beside it.

"This is you?" Ray asked, her voice shaking. "This is because of what you did?"

Parry felt that squirm in her gut again. "It's because of the loss of Ara Chaz," she said, the technical truth. She did not want to lie to Ray any more than she absolutely had too.

Ray reached out and took her hand, tears in her eyes. "So, it's over? This war…"

"No, no, not yet. Just negotiations," she said. "It's just a start, but it's a wonderful sign."

"Are they trying to lull us, do you think? Give the Confed a false sense of security, then hit us?"

"It may be just that, and I'm sure the Confed is taking that into consideration. We've lost too much blood to just take this on face value, but…it's hope."

The tears had escaped Ray's eyes and now traced lines down her cheeks, as she leaned forward and wound her arms around Parry's shoulders, hugging her tightly.

"It is," she said, her voice muffled against her shoulder. "It is _hope_…"


End file.
